


our red twined string matches this desire

by jetblacklilac



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Slow Burn, There’s a plot somewhere, commitment issues, they make out tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23198248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: She won’t take the plunge because that would tell him she wants to.But does he truly want the same?“We’re friends, no?” She mocks.Jon is obvious now, more than he has ever been, at gazing at her lips and she slightly darts out her tongue. “Friends,” He exhales, the lone word reduced to a lowly growl. “Yeah, we’re friends, sweetheart.”Maybe she used to wrong word?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 52
Kudos: 236





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration: an edit i saw in ig and the song 'is there somehwere' by halsey. the lyrics “Your girl's got red in her cheeks, 'cause we're something she can't see” is SUCH an obvious trope like my MIND wOW

It’s always a party or some social event bringing them together. Not their own choices, because that would mean they _like_ being together. And they don’t.

Sansa’s friend has commented on her nemesis. She tries to explain to Jeyne that Jon doesn’t deserve such high praise from her but in a way; there is no other word to describe the bond they have, and twisted like the paths they take to avoid each other. Sarcasm and rough words are exchanged between them and Sansa wishes she never met him.

He is a taint on her pristine life.

She smiles in a practiced motion instead of genuine happiness, pretending to listen to one of Mother’s guests, prattling on about his company being built on foreign soil. As though it could impress Sansa enough to go out with him; plus, he’s decades older than her.

Scanning her childhood home’s living room, teeming with businessmen and classy women, she easily spots her childhood friend. _Oh Jeyne would raise an eyebrow if I labelled Jon that way._ She hides her amusement as she lifts her glass of champagne to her mouth, coated in a simple shine.

Unlike the woman Jon is currently entertaining.

She’s shorter than Sansa, reaches Jon’s eyes only because of those sky high heels. Her blond locks resembles a golden river down her back, her small and pointed nose is a plastic surgeon’s pride. She has crystal purple eyes, bright as the sky and her pearl white teeth. Her dress is way above her knees, sparkling starry night, and she wears it well.

The way Jon type would and he obviously likes it. She really is beautiful; the way he likes it.

But then, his misty eyes slide away and find her blank gaze at them. They’re a perfect pair, Sansa thinks, as she asses the navy Armani suit he wears too well. It fits to his muscular physique; broad shoulders, narrow hips, everything she has seen whenever their parents drag them to a joint vacation abroad.

Jon swims and surfs and only wears swim trunks. Sansa chooses a shirt above her bikini and hides underneath a large umbrella. He isn’t shy about how he shed off the awkward and lanky body he had when they were younger. And she couldn’t care less what people thought of her, only smiles when people compliment on her ‘flowery-bloom’ beauty.

She likes to think she’s used to it.

His thick chestnut locks are combed back but some strands curl on his forehead. Sansa just knows the nameless woman before him is dying to push it back or maybe him against the antique Elwood coffee table.

Sansa lifts her half-filled glass and Jon smirks.

The blonde glances at her direction and Sansa doesn’t care for her fleeting jealousy. She resumes the conversation with the businessman.

As the night drones on, Sansa begins to feel the ache in her feet. Mother bought her these red soled shoes and insists on ‘showing it off’ tonight in front of her guests. And she agrees, because the shoes compliment the simplistic lavender silk she chose for the occasion.

Sansa walks upstairs and slips in an empty bedroom. She lays down on the bed, hands on her stomach, and hopes a few minutes of swaying her feet can numb the pain. The toast would be done soon and she has to be down there, smiling emptily and by her parents’ side.

The door opens and she sits upright.

Jon closes the door, the lock clicks loudly in the silence between and around them. He leans on it, arms cross, and beneath his beard, his mouth must be quirked up at seeing her like this; her hair lightly mussed, an exasperated expression on her face, and she’s glaring at him.

“Nice party.” He starts.

And this is where it begins; the dance with no words, only the rhythm of their hearts.

“You only like it because of the women it attracts.” Sansa retorts.

“Ah yes, you look exceptional tonight, Sans The daughter of the hostess is very enchanting and accommodating.” Jon grins, head tilted sideways.

Sansa’s hands curl on the lime green bed sheets, her jaw locked for a few seconds before her mouth curls sourly. It’s a standard compliment he has uttered and offered to her for years to the point she wonders if his praises are really genuine.

Then again, what should it matter what he thinks of her? He’s a smug bastard, thinks he’s entitled to the world because of the wealth he has behind his name.

( _she hates how she wants to know if this is a game to him. or, better yet, if she could win just one round among the countless they played._ )

She lifts her left wrist, to inspect the diamond crusted watch, a gift Father bought her. The time is near and she has to go. “Enjoy the party then.” She says in dismissal, head tilted upwards because if she looks down, she will see the slight tremble in her hands as her lungs take in his cologne and the heat of him.

( _it’s much easier to not see the effects. and easier still to think her thrumming nerves and heavy breaths are effects of the alcohol she barely took in._ )

Sansa is the worse liar out of the two of them and Jon _revels_ in it. Like the Devil amused by a sinner.

Her hand _nearly_ twists the golden doorknob, to escape this bubble slowly obscuring reality outside of this room.

Jon cradles her wrist, his fingers pressing against her humming bird pulse. “Drank too much I see. You're a lightweight, love.” He whispers his lie as a joke.

Sansa glares at him. “So, shouldn’t you focus on your impending one night stand?”

He steps forward, presses her hand against his chest, her fingers curling on his charcoal black tie.

(- _has the constant urge to bring him down to her level like shooting a dragon out of the sky.)_

“Ah but I saw you hide up here. Figured you were inebriated and I had to make sure no harm will befall you, sweetheart.”

Sansa thinks his date would’ve tried to undress him the moment Jon snuck in with her. But for her, she can’t, and _won’t_. “So you don’t worry about your date? Figured she’d be waiting for you and will happily fall into bed with you?”

At the snarl of her tone, Jon eyes darken, as inky and murky as the night sky.

( _the midnight intent in his eyes matches his suit. he wears lust exceedingly well.)_

“We’ve been into this cycle long enough for us to know the result, don’t we love?” Jon breathes against her cheek, pressing her against the door, releases her hand only to hold her, pin her form where she stands.

Sansa continues to glare at him. “You’re predictable is what you are, Jon.” She hisses, tries to grasps the reigns of control but Jon won’t let her have a taste of it.

Outside of this bubble, Sansa is the perfect daughter; a high paying job, keeps to herself; and lives in a luxurious apartment. She’s in control of every aspect of her life. Except for this and she _hates_ it, despises how Jon just _takes_ and she _gives_ it to him.

Then, she realizes, the nameless blonde is waiting for Jon to come down, to bring her to his bachelor pad, and-

Sansa smirks.

Jon blinks. She detects the stutter in his breath at her odd choice to smirk like that. She should be jealous or flippant; either way, she never grins at him like she is at this moment.

She could get drunk on the feeling of delaying Jon inevitable evening plans. To make him suffer as she does whenever she stares at his back, as he escorts a model to his sports car, no doubt to break the speed limit to his huge apartment.

She’s been there numerous times and it’s nothing special. She nags on him to hire a decorator but he brushes it off, saying stupid things like ‘ _Just tell me what it lacks and I’ll buy it. Tell you what, let’s make a date out of it.’_

“Why are you here, Jon? I’m not your type. We’re wasting time here.” Sansa lays down the words she has never said.

(- _well she did once, in college. only bottles of alcohol made her twisted tongue unfurl, like the bile from her throat the next day.)_

There was disbelief in his darkened eyes. “…You’re not my type?” He drawls out, the breath caresses her cheek and she nearly closes her eyes in sheer bliss. “You think I’m not attracted to you?”

_“I don’t know what you guys are except for this weird friendship tied in with the blatant attraction.” Jeyne once declared over brunch. “I’m surprised you guys haven’t slept together.”_

_She wipes the corner of her mouth. “That would be a boring end, don’t you think?”_

Sansa relaxes against the door now, her heart thudding against her rib cage. “I know it, Jon.” She replies, her hand finally cups the golden doorknob, to be away from him, the temptation and sin he exudes.

“… And you know my date is my type, then?” Jon lowly utters, his large hands cover hers and slowly tugs away from the only escape from him and his promises; he will never fulfil any of the implications of his actions. Silver tone, honeyed words, and gestures so sweet are too good to be true.

She knows this, has _known_ it ever since she met him.

And it’s the only rejection dancing on the tip of her tongue; vaguely tasting the champagne because his name fills the space of her mouth.

Her dress is a gift. Mother bought it at some couture in Italy, fawned on how perfectly it fits her. _Like a flower fairy,_ Mother chirps. Pearl buttons trace the curve of her spine, a layered skirt of chiffon, the sleeves are nothing but lace mist resting on her wrist bones.

Sansa’s teeth chew on her lip, astonished to feel Jon hand now cupping her waist, to face him; this unspoken but delightful game between them. She smiles at him, relishing how unsure the famed Jon Snow is in this instant.

She loves the freedom to manage her life, away from her controlling parents.

Or maybe, she really is just drunk.

“If I kiss you right now, you’ll only kiss me back in pity. Or it’s a bodily reaction to such a thing.” Sansa answers, her hands press down on his hips, fingernails biting into his leather belt. She _revels_ at how the blonde isn’t doing this to him, at how he’s so stunned at her bold actions Jon lets her stumble through her half-baked attempt at seduction.

Jon glances down, her perfectly neat manicured fingers skims the belt hoops, everything but-

He studies her in that predatory intensity she has learned to ignore, to dismiss and reason that someone else around her has enticed him to act like that.

( _maybe she’s a better liar than she thought she was.)_

“ _Bodily reaction?”_ Jon echoes in the deep chested rumble, the sort she only reads in romance books, the sort she was so sure only perfect men in fiction do to the people they want so bad. “You think I’ll kiss you back just because?”

His mouth is so near hers.

She won’t take the plunge because that would tell him she wants to.

But does he truly want the same?

“We’re friends, no?” She mocks.

Jon is obvious now, more than he has ever been, at gazing at her lips and she slightly darts out her tongue. “Friends,” He exhales, the lone word reduced to a lowly growl. “Yeah, we’re friends, sweetheart.”

Maybe she used to wrong word?

“You’ll think of your date if we kiss.” Sansa exhales the words against his lips, the same ones that have outsmarted her once or twice in high school debate competitions. The edges of her vision are hazy and she’s trying to recall if she had a few glasses of champagne instead of one.

“Because I don’t want you.” Jon finished the thought.

_Because you brought her under my family’s roof. That’s why._

She blinks up at him, her knee brushes against his thigh.

He sucks in a breath, his pupils blown wide.

( _Does everyone he sleeps with see the same thing? Barely restrained want. In the evening dark, he looks feral with this desire it should scare her.)_

“I think we missed the toast. Mother will look for me, Jon.” Sansa instead says, shrugs, and she pats his cheek. “Good evening, Jon.”

He catches her hand, fingers at his glistening mouth.

Sansa stares wide eyed, breaths inclining to pants because honestly, why did she even think she could out win someone as accustomed to victory as the man in front of her? “J-Jon..?”

He kisses her fingertips. It would’ve been a simple and affectionate gesture if not for Jon standing in her space, crowding her, clouding all sense and logic from her conventionally sound mind.

“Kiss me.” Jon urges. It reminds her of that one summer vacation; at a cliff’s edge, their friends in the waters, shouting for them and she babbled on about how her parents would ground her until she’s thirty if she fell in that insane height.

It only took Jon outstretched hand and a half-assed assurance and she jumped with him.

But now, she’s almost thirty, and the fall still terrifies her.

Sansa narrows her eyes. “Why? So you can daydream of your date? She’s just a floor beneath us.” She mocks him, make it known that they have to halt this charade for now. The party is important, she can’t recall _why_ at the moment but Mother planned it for months with her assistance.

“To convince myself you’re not my type.” He answers.

She sneers at him. He returns a wolfish grin.

Sansa stands on her toes, hands combing through his hair; the very same she has denied the blonde to admire more because he’s up here with her, playing this game that started when they were young and so hesitant.

Their mouths slant so the kiss is wilder, messier as they press tighter to each other. Her dress, the beautiful and gifted pretty thing, is surely crumpled by how Jon presses her against the door, the foreign silks against his tailored suit.

It’s almost romantic.

She captures his bone vibrating groans, drink it in like fine vintage her parents keep in wine cellars. His hands rove over her clothed skin and it’s her sort of victory that the pace is frustrated, he cannot truly cherish her because of the layers of clothes she wears.

Sansa rips her mouth from his, decides to smear her lipstick against the sturdy column of his neck. She’s careful to not leave evidences as though this was a crime against something. 

Perhaps it’s a breach of their odd friendship?

Should she let Jon claw her expensive dress to thin ribbons, let the wolves in them bare their teeth and mark each other like this is some hot and heavy romance plot? Her hands roam his muscular back, she tips her head to the door with a dull thud, biting her lip as Jon licks into the conservative neckline of her pretty dress. She could picture herself painting his back scarlet red with her nails, could already pocket the moans he would breathe against her flesh, the knife-edge sweetness and pleasure it could bring for the both of them. 

How is it danger is appealing for her when Jon is involved? She's never been this reckless or daring with her lovers. 

“Your little girlfriend looks like the kind of woman to taint her _red lipstick_ on her lover. I don’t own her luscious shade of crimson though.” She laughs along his sweat-slicked neck, pleased at how she’ll wear his bruises for days to come. “Doesn’t she, Jon?”

 _You'll carry her love bites but you’ll see my auburn hair behind your eyelids. Won’t you, Jon?_

“Next time, use _red.”_ Jon utters, gravel against her exposed shoulder. "Embody the lava in my veins when I see you all dolled up, acting like the perfect good girl that you are, sweetheart."

Her eyes widened when Jon frantically _bit_ on the slope of her neck, a wrecked and absolutely seductive groan shakes her heart in lustful anticipation, and she whines, high-pitched and she's _smiling_. She moans just against his ear and his hold on her trembles.

_Jeyne cocks her head to the left, frowning. “Resolved sexual tension is boring to you?” She laughs; her spoon cuts across the mushroom soup._

_“Well,” Sansa lightly sips on the wine. “That ending would be dull, don’t you think?”_

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Before the party fully ends, Sansa chats with Mother’s important and influential guests.

Her hair curls down her shoulders, releasing it from the humble chignon from earlier that night. _To hide the purple bruises and bite marks,_ she thinks, shaking hands and laughing with lawyers and local politicians.

In the corner of her eye, she catches a pair and recognizes Jon shadow.

He’s holding the _blonde’s_ dainty hand and bids her parents a parting wave.

Sansa studies him; the manner how his locks scatter about his head because she pulled on them too roughly, his tie remains loose and moves with his steps because he whines that he can’t breathe when her tongue traces his pulse and her teeth bite at his throat.

_(to show him she's a she-wolf, planting a reminder of her crimson red ruthlessness that will bloom on his throat. she smirks at her product because Jon cannot explain how he got a love bite before he and that little blonde even kissed. perhaps she will dump him then or he'll lie his way through an excuse like she has been with her past lovers and friends-)_

_“_ Is _that_ really his type, dearest?” Mother wonders when they’re the only ones in the living room. "I mean the girl is pretty but...." Her sharp Tully eyes implies a criticism a lady like themselves shouldn't breathe to the air. It's improper. 

_Her best friend shakes her head. “You think settling this years long tension would be dull? I don't understand, Sans."_

_“It’ll make me hope.” Sansa drinks more of the wine underneath the afternoon Saturday glow. “And hope is so dangerous to the hopeless.”_

She smiles at the clueless woman. “Perhaps, Mother, perhaps.” She accepts the cup of tea. “So, when is your next gathering? Anything I can do to help you, Mother?”


	2. white lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *just wrote a one shot*
> 
> my brain at a random time: HEY WHAT IF-
> 
> so this is my thinking process tbh

“He’s late.”

“You were too.”

Arya rolled her eyes at Sansa’s remark. “I got here five minutes before you did. That’s nothing compared to _thirty minutes_ being late!” She exclaims then proceeds to stuff her mouth with the buttered croissant. “And to be so in our sacred brunch meet up after Mother’s dull dinner parties. Oh, this is unforgivable _,_ I tell you!” And she did, in a childish tone with a pout to go along with it.

Robb slurps down his iced tea before asking for a refill. “You know what I think?” He says.

“That you don’t?” His sisters sassed without a moment’s thought.

His brilliant azure eyes narrow, mouth twitching, but he continues, “I think it’s his girlfriend busying him. A morning shag or whatnot classic Jon.”

In a way, Sansa is grateful she has no superhuman strength because if she did, then the spoon she holds would’ve snapped in half. She drank her brunch Earl Grey tea so her mouth wouldn’t scowl.

Or maybe if she possessed a comic book trait like that, she would haul Jon _away._

“Oh, her?” Arya snorts and snatches the dry muffin from Sansa’s plate. “I saw her at the party too. She wanted to return to his place but Jon wanted to hang a bit, because you know, he _loves_ us. And, Jon’s friends met her about two days ago.”

Sansa asks a question that struck to her during her sister’s explanation. “How did you know the last bit?”

Sure she and Jon are close, but they have different circle of friends. Hard it is to believe from their strong and interconnected childhood and still they managed to branch out and find other people to hang out with. It’s one of the staple jokes Theon slurs out whenever they’re in a pub, drunk off their asses, red in the face, but enjoys each other’s company.

And in that alcohol induced bliss, they always laugh and find it so funny.

A faint pink blush stained Arya’s cheeks. And it _is_ a blush, Sansa is the expert of romance and its effects on a person. Well, relatively speaking, next to Robb, a kind and sensitive man but he’s comically oblivious, and Arya, someone who’d rather make fun of the couples walking down the street than be one of them.

“I-Gendry told me.” She mutters, low and bashful of all things! Looking up, she must’ve noticed her older siblings beaming at her like she announced she won another taekwondo tournament. “Guys, I’m a black belt.”

Never mind how this Gendry revealed that information to Arya. Never mind who was it between them that gave their number and how long they waited to send a text to start everything Arya wouldn’t dare to label yet.

 _Oh, Arya please tell me everything later!_ Sansa pleaded with her huge eyes.

 _Fine, Cupid Incarnate._ Arya quietly responded with an eye roll.

Robb laughs. “Oh, right, er, anyways, it’s weird, don’t you think that Jon brought her to the dinner but didn’t bother to introduce her to us? We’re his family!” He whines and Sansa wonders how Jeyne loves this idiotic man so much she allowed to be engaged to him.

_Jeyne has always loved Robb, the poor girl._

“Maybe it’s too new.” Sansa says in Jon’s defence because if she won’t then she’ll speak foul things. And she tries to avoid being bitter before four in the afternoon.

“What’s new?” Jon asks, sitting down next to her, inky curls sway. He smiles at the three of them and it’s too easy for him to pretend. “You mean that ratty hoodie Arry wears? No, she’s been wearing that since high school.”

( _his hair is always messy but it’s messier than usual. did his girlfriend do that? Sansa hates thinking this way because she’ll wonder but no answer will be provided. Not unless she swallows her pride and-no, no that won’t happen! Especially not for Jon)_

Robb muffles his laughter with a slice of sausage.

Arya glares. “It just means I’ve always been fit my entire life!”

“Or skinny and small.” Jon retorts and flashes a cheeky grin because even Arya wouldn’t ruin the sacred brunch for that comment.

Arya rams her fork into her scrambled eggs, Jon wincing at the sound of impact, and Robb shifts in his seat. “Your novice girlfriend, Jon, that Barbie doll; shiny and new.” She spits out in an almost victorious tone because Jon deflates, uncomfortable with the twist in their talk. He always did hate it if he doesn’t anticipate the route of a conversation to prepare himself.

 _Yes, yes, reprimand him, that’s it._ Sansa silently goads and wipes the corner of her mouth to keep her smirk private. Her siblings don’t have to know she loves the violence they have underneath their skin, how she could be as cruel as them if need be.

( _that need along with Jon is too natural it should scare her. But cowardly wolves do not endure and Starks do.)_

Jon barks out a laugh. After ordering his brewed coffee and a plate of breakfast, he says, “Dany? You’re upset about her, why? It’s not like you actually talked to her.” He sounds so amused she wants to strangle him for being _so_ boyishly stupid. “It’d be more understandable if you talked to her.”

Of course men like him don’t understand. Then again, Arya isn’t jealous, only annoyed. And Sansa? Well…

“She’s keeping you from us, mate!” Robb dramatically exclaims. He rounds an arm around Jon’s shoulders. “Even Mother asks about you when you weren’t there on Barbecue Sunday. Can you believe it, Jonathan, my mother finally misses you? She finally admits that she cares for you even though you’re well, _you_.”

Sansa giggles.

Jon stares at her but clears his throat. “You mean she noticed I wasn’t there for her to scold on how I have table manners of a caveman? That’s why?” He deadpanned.

Robb solemnly nods. “That’s right, my boy, when she sees you slouch, she’ll always remember you that way.”

“I was nine when we started hanging out!” Jon replies with an arched brow.

“And,” Sansa adds because if she doesn’t then she won’t get another chance to chastise him without sounding like a jealous lover. “she’s a bad influence on you.”

“Oh?” Jon urges, pushing away from her brother to drink his coffee.

She smacks her lips after drinking her tea, lips shiny, as she speaks to him. Hiding her amusement when his entire focus appears to be that action; instead of the hearty breakfast on their table, instead of their conversation of this _Dany_ of his.

“She’s making you late.” Sansa stated.

“Yeah,” Arya agrees, twirling her fork in the air. “And now, Sans here will spank you as punishment. She hates tardiness!”

Sansa and Jon gape at those words, not from stunned chagrin. She couldn’t look at her siblings’ best friend as those words swim and sink in her mind, into the dark corner of her mind she wants to stay untouched because it’s so much safer.

She doesn’t jump on her seat when Jon’s large and warm, so _warm,_ is position on her knee. The action makes her aware of the sunflower patterned sundress she wore to this beautiful sunny brunch.

( _maybe she wants him to not touch her like that in front of her family. Maybe she wants him to go higher-)_

“It’s not serious between Dany and I, guys, believe me.” Jon laughs, his fingers trace the scar on her knee. She got it when she was seven, scraped the flesh when she tried to chase a butterfly but fell down on a sharp rock. “She was my plus one because well, I had no other woman to ask that night.”

( _it’s almost like that; chasing something pretty and fleeting then you fall, you get hurt, and you carry a portable reminder of your foolishness. Jon would make a dull butterfly though, grey against black? no, no-)_

 _“_ Bullocks.” Arya sneers, throwing bread crumbs at Jon.

Robb isn’t convinced either. “Father saw you two and now, the old man probably thinks you guys are planning your wedding. Oh and don’t do it in the spring too, Jeyne would have my head if you would. She wants the spotlight on our slow built romance.”

Sansa scolds Arya but her eyes slide to him, like crystal magnets getting sucked into his abyss for eyes. She presses her thighs together but it was a mistake, or her mind is slowly sinking into her lust so early in the morning that instincts guide her instead of sense.

Jon grins and she isn’t sure if it’s because they’re talking about her perfect girlfriend or if it’s because his fingers venture upward, on the meat of her thigh.

Sansa thinks if she breathes out, it’ll come out as a moan. Oh he’d love that though, for her to slip up for once.

His teasing gaze is shifted towards her. “And Sansa spanking me? Oh that’s so you, sweetling.”

Arya pretends to barf. Robb rubs his face with his palm.

Sansa-

Well, she glares at him; an action she often does.

But now, she does it because his rough fingers trace her favourite underwear. She only meant to wear it because she woke up in a good mood and miraculously before her alarm.

Maybe fate has other plans for her.

“Shut up, man.” Robb complains. “Gods, that just-I’m fucking traumatized.” He checks his phone and drains the rest of his iced tea. “Come on, Jeyne’s waiting for us.”

Arya smirks, stands up, and adjusts her plaid styled hoodie. “See you guys at the reception party. Oh and Sansa,” She smiles in the way her teachers have feared and detested, the pin sliding out of the grenade. “Have fun with your blind date tonight.”

Jon’s hand slid away from her thigh, a last tug on her lucky underwear, and his face is marble; smooth and vacant of expression.

Robb laughs. “Miss Hopeless Romantic is going on a date? Who’s the bastard?”

“One of Gendry’s mates asked for Sansa’s number, naturally, my boyfriend gave me his profile then I passed it to the darling girl.” Arya explains the complicated process of suggestion for a date, but one of the most effective ways known to man in getting a decent partner. “She liked him so everything is set!”

“Thank gods me and Jeyne are getting married. Oh, remember Mother set me up with that Frey once?” Robb snorted. “ _A matter of duty_ she says but her granddad was an absolute lunatic!”

That memory diffused the tension; Jon relaxed on his seat and smiles easily like nothing is wrong. Arya and Sansa giggled.

“Yes and Late Frey chased you with a weed hacker when you brought her back home!” Arya wheezed, bent down in laughter, and Jon jumps in with another tease and they all howled in laughter.

“Who’s the bloke, though?” Jon asks, nonchalant, but Sansa caught the tick in his strong jaw, sharp and beautifully angled.

 _He sounds gruff, but doesn’t he always? Why is he glaring at his plate like that? He doesn’t like the food or the topic?_ Sansa shifts about on her seat, primly crossing her leg on the other, rather smugly.

“Dickon Tarly; he’s a friend so yeah, why not?” She says before leaving with a wave.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jeyne was already waiting for them with the circular table filled with different envelopes, letters, and pastel colours of every kind.

Seeing her kind and upturned face, those soft chocolate curls frame her small face, Sansa couldn’t help but feel a little more relaxed. “Gods above, Jeyne, you don’t look like you’re stressing out on your wedding plans!” She jested.

“Oh, I am, but maybe not in the way you imagine.” Jeyne pats Sansa’s cheek. “You’d be running around like a headless chicken! And don’t worry, Sans, after this I’ll look over the outfits you sent me for your special night!”

“You knew?” Robb huffed, sitting down next to her, pouting. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?”

Jeyne leaned over closer to him. “What would’ve you done, love? Hunt down the poor man? Oh but he isn’t a poor man, isn’t he?” She turns to Sansa, who’s blushing, and wide eyed like Bambi. “Sans told me he’s a military man like his father. A man in the uniform, how dashing!”

“So, uh, we’re here for the letters right?” Jon cuts in the festive air. He’s scanning different samples like he has any interested at all.

Robb nods. He kisses his wife to be on the forehead. “Yeah, Jon, sorry.” He leans in to Jeyne. “He’s grumpy because we chewed him out for being late. And we didn’t order his food ahead of time so he had to _wait_ for it.”

“Ah, okay?” Jeyne returned in slight confusion. She shuffled the envelopes in her hands and spread them like they’re having a poker night at the Kraken Bar. “Which one is more fitting for my wedding, Sans?”

“Did you bring the Book?” Sansa wonders.

Jeyne blushed and Robb didn’t understand the implication. “Wh-Sansa, why now?” She whines in the adorable manner that amuses the redhead.

Since she saw her first Disney movie, Sansa has been obsessed with the perfect wedding. Meeting Jeyne at that point in her life is a blessing because she has a girl who shares the same dreams; a perfect sunny haired prince, with skies in their eyes, and the finest clothes he wears. They would spend hours poring through magazines, cutting out wedding gowns, decorations, and locations they would love to have their weddings at.

They filled out several scrap books. The first edition was when they were in elementary; incredibly mortifying and horribly cut out pictures that Sansa would have vertigo revisiting it. Then, in high school, it was all pink and glitters for them. Jeyne sighed numerous times about having everything white and pink and Sansa wanted the cake to be lemon cakes piled on top of each other with fondue winter roses between the tier layers. 

“The Book, you mean the Bible or something?” Jon wonders.

Sansa rolls her eyes. “Our sort of scriptures. So you didn’t bring it?”

“I left it in the apartment. But I remember a note saying it should give a hint of the theme of the wedding. So I scrapped around envelopes and letters with the same light blue and cream white colour schemes.” Jeyne explains.

“Wait, what religion do you follow then?” Jon follows up with one of the dumbest questions Sansa has ever heard.

Or maybe she’s annoyed right now that Jon’s stupidity is interrupting with her best friend’s wedding plans.

Jeyne’s eye twitched but then she sat straighter. “Oh, Robb told me something about you, Jon. He said you’re seeing someone?” She says in a careful tone.

Jon glares at Robb, who was too busy trying to differentiate the stationary from each other. “Not really, no. I just took her to one of the Stark parties last week.”

“Sure, sure, but will she come to the wedding?” Jeyne pulls out a rose pink notebook and opens it at the middle. There, is a perfectly well drawn sketch of the church from a bird’s eye view; she even included the flowers and twisting cloths between the three feet vases. On the aisles, there are names written in her tiny and cursive penmanship. “Because if she is, I need to know so I can adjust the seating plan at church and the reception. It took Sansa, Beth, and I weeks to construct the perfect seating plan but I don’t mind readjusting for your girlfriend-“

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Jon explodes, startling the adults around him. He clears his throat. “She’s just a co-worker I brought along to…” He hesitates then, eyes lowering on the table.

Sansa nearly shakes him because he’s so irrationally stubborn and shy; usually it’s a cute thing for him but right now, Sansa is unreasonably desperate for his explanation.

“Yeah, mate?” Robb gently encourages.

“Look, mum’s been annoying me to date again. And Dany, she always gives me these hints and Tyrion has been trying to set us up for _ages_ so I gave in.” Jon explains then bristles at the realization his friends are staring at him.

And Sansa, she tries to not let the disappointment swell any bigger. She’d choke by it as the words twirl about in her mind.

 _Lyanna wants Jon to move on from Ygritte. Understandable since literally no one in their families approved of that wild girl. Dany?_ Sansa’s hands bunch on her pretty skirt. _He never mentioned Dany like ever? And her stupid hints, what’s that about? Why didn’t he ask for my help? He always asked me for advises when he was with Ygritte? And that stupid Tyrion? Oh I’ll kill him when I see him-_

“You got a point, Jonathan. Can’t bring a girl to a wedding when she isn’t your girlfriend yet.” Robb agrees then looks to Jeyne for clarification but she nods.

She eyes Jon. “I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable though. I-I didn’t mean to invade on your privacy like that.” She rubs her cheek.

Jon smiles. “Nah, it’s okay, Jeyne. You want everything to be perfect. I understand.” He gently says.

Jeyne’s phone rings and she gasps, seeing the alarm. She punches Robb and brings it closer to his face as he rubs the part where she punched. “Baby, our cake tasting has been moved earlier! They have new flavours she thinks I would like. Oh my gods, we have to check them out! I can't miss a single thing that could make our reception more perfect!” She shrieks.

Rob tries to convey the level of shock and worry his fiancé is displaying. “Wh-what? When?” He says.

“In an hour from now and it takes thirty minutes from here to there!” Jeyne exclaims, already picking her bag from Robb’s lap. “Let’s go!”

“Wait, the invite?” Sansa asks.

Jeyne looks over at them. “Oh, you can pick whatever you think is best for my wedding, Sans, I trust you!” She smiles brightly then drags Robb out the door.

Now, she’s left alone with Jon; the last person she wants to be left alone with.

_Why didn’t Beth come? Oh right… pregnant…. Arya? She has patients. Being a physical therapist must mean long hours in the hospital…_

“You can leave.” Sansa primly suggested in a neutral tone.

Jon rolls _his_ eyes and Sansa nearly wants to choke him. Not in the bedroom sort of thing, but in a way that could lead her to jail. Maybe both? “You think I can’t handle choosing paper?”

“No, you probably can’t handle the paper cuts.” Sansa replied.

The door to the shop opens and Jeyne returns to their table, slams down three containers on their table. “I got these samples from the last appointment. Gobble them up you bastards because I might choose another flavour. Okay, bye loves!” She blows a kiss to them.

“Huh, I thought she already liked the wild berries and honey for their cake?” Jon wonders, opening up one of the containers and hands a fork to her. “Didn’t she eat three slices of it?”

“Maybe something came up.” Sansa answers. She smacks her lips in giddiness as her taste buds tingle, vanilla and cinnamon on her tongue. “Gods, this is such a good flavour. Maybe I’ll keep this to myself!”

“Why don’t you share? Aren’t you a good girl?”

_He… can’t…. we’re in public….._

Sansa chances to glance at him, leaning back on his chair, eyes of coal shining with excitement. She gulps and her throat _burns_ because his gaze drifts lower and lower.

_Could he sense my breathlessness? Or my stupidly fluttering heart? Or am I thinking these things because I want him to?_

“You have your own.” She stiffly responds then goes back to reviewing her latest options. She signals for one of the employees, apologizing for bringing snacks, then discusses which option she likes the most so far.

The brunette is cheerful, gives her own feedback.

Jon scoots a little bit too _near_ and leans over, slicing down her cake and eats, not even bothering to provide input in their given task.

Sansa’s polite smile grows wider, more nervous, because she can feel his minty breath caress her neck. The hotness of his breaths sink into her exposed skin because she braided her hair into a simple French style. Her fingers tingled and her body slackens, as though she wants to sink into his broad chest and let him-

“I think it’s best if you choose this, ma’am.” The employee suggest.

Sansa blinks away the slight haze and bobs her head. She glances down at her slices to see it reduced from five to three. “Jon you little-“

Without thinking because that _idiotic and stupid man,_ has the accursed skill to reduce her to an irrational woman, Sansa turns to him and she’s absolutely floored to see him so near her; noses nearly touching, smudges of icing on his sinful and full mouth.

Jon smirks. “What’s so little about me, sweetling?” He wonders.

They both didn’t hear the employee feebly saying: “Okay, uh, I’ll leave you two to talk about…. The invite…”

“I-you-your sense of decency!” Sansa whispers, her eyes zeroes in on the white line on his lower lip.

( _wants to lick it off his mouth in a way she never dared with her past lovers. Did he do that on purpose or something? That weasel.)_

He laughs. “Oh, that? Princess that gives it more room for… other things.” He says in in such an infuriatingly casual tone and yet the glint in his eyes is sufficient to make her blush.

 _Blush_ like a goddamn school girl.

Sansa tries to settle her breathing. Levels her chin higher but she closes the distance. “Like being a bastard?” She hisses. _Seriously, how can he not feeling that stupid icing on his lip? I would know it’s there. Is he that dumb?_ “Your pea sized brain can’t even process that icing on your mouth! You _are-“_

Jon goes hunting with her family. It’s traditional and in a surprising fact, father and Lyanna _loves_ the wilderness as their common childhood hobby. And their parents have taught them everything about snares and traps for rabbits before they graduated high school.

So Sansa knows that telling _clink_ of the trap shutting its jaws on the poor prey. Arya would whoop in joy and wiggle her hips. Robb and Jon tries to act casual but they smile too brightly when Father or Aunt Lyanna compliments them. She would smile in pride. Rickon and Bran would fist bump.

“Lick it off me then, sweetheart.” Jon dares, wolfish grin, that taunting voice sliding down her spine and she does want to.

( _Once, Mother comments on Jon’s lack of manners to Aunt Lyanna. But the brunette laughs it off. “Cat, you’re more dignified than I am! And besides, it’s like trying to fit a wolf into a suit!”)_

And Aunt Lyanna is correct.

But Mother did raise her, drilled etiquette rules into Sansa’s bones that she moves with it in each step.

“What would _Dany_ say about that?” She sneers.

( _She doesn’t want to remove the cream from his lip. No, no she wants to sink her teeth in, lick the blood-)_

 __She shifts on her seat, thighs rubbing together, but she cloaks the action as she scoots away from him.

Jon’s hand stops the motion though. “I don’t know what she thinks. Can’t read her mind!”

She does something so incredibly indecent she could feel Mother’s glare on the nape of her neck.

Closing the distance, her cotton pink tongue darts out but then, _then-_

Sansa learns that Jon is indeed a convincing trickster.

His large hand cups the back of her head, mouth on hers, and crushes a hot kiss. Her breathing is heavier now, eyes closed because something as ruthlessly passionate as this can’t be properly processed with mere vision.

( _she’d never thought she’d be the type of woman to kiss openly especially if the persons she’s kissing isn’t her boyfriend. Is more like a family friend? What would Mother think?)_

Usually, at that thought, Sansa would pause at her questionable action, carefully assess the situation, and step back if the thing she’s doing is something that could shame her Mother.

But, Sansa’s mouth moves harsher against Jon’s smirk, feeling the shape of his lush lips, the lingering taste of wild berries on that sinful mouth. She leans closer, fingers combing through his curls.

Did _Dany_ pull at his pretty curls with desirous abandon like her?

Sansa wants to stay oblivious, fingernails scraping on his scalp.

Her lungs screamed for oxygen so she pulls away, takes in the air but she also caught his cologne in the air between them. She licks her lips, noting how swollen they are by his attention.

He’s gazing at her in an intensity she doesn’t want to study. “What would Dickon think if he knows you kiss someone before your big night with him?” He taunts but then his hand cups her knee more, almost like he wants to haul her on his lap.

_Now if Mother heard that, she’d have Jon locked up._

Sansa gawks at him, nearly panting because of her effort to shut Jon up and his stupidity!

“You…You’re jealous?” She lowly says, desire twining in the spaces of her question because the power tingles in her veins at that thought. 

( _a predator loves power and it comes in different forms. for Sansa, it's making Jon feel the same shameful things she does for whatever it is between them. if it's jealousy, passion, the crimson red strings bringing them closer, she wants him to burn for it too so she won't be alone)_

“Why would I be?” Jon challenges because a man’s pride is above everything else.

_Well, he’s taller than you._

_Ah but Jon is more attractive than the shirtless beach photos we've seen of Dickon._ Another wormy voice of hers whispers with delight. 

Her dainty fingers, the ones that have only touched piano keys and knitting needles, traces his lean leg. She licks her lips when the muscles jump on her feathery touches she ventures higher.

“Yes, why would you, Jon? You have that little blonde and I have Dickon for tonight.” Sansa agrees with a wolfish smile; checkmate in this game of theirs.

But, Jon is one of the most adept players in chess because sometimes, Bran forces him to play so try some new strategies for his chess club.

He brushes his nose against hers in a deceptively adoring manner.

( _is it always like this with wolves and their enormous ego? Cloaks romance in actions and words in something more dangerous, more fun than vanilla romance? Is this why Sansa can’t let this go?_

_maybe it's the thrill of the chase. they both experience adrenaline of tugging at this taut string like running through the woods, wind against one's face.)_

“You may have him for a night, a time, yes, but _sweetling,_ ” His voice drops and Sansa gasps, she doesn’t even know why she did that. But the tone scrapes something in her gut, leaving tiny flames and she bumps her knee to his. “You really think they’ll stay, you think we'll have them? Having and keeping are two vastly different things, baby.”

 _No, they won’t._ Sansa thinks and he smiles at her because they just know.

“So, my boss says either decide on the damn invite design or take this exhibitionism behaviour somewhere else.” The employee from earlier deadpans.

Sansa’s ears redden in mortification.

Jon laughs. “Sorry, sorry, but yeah we have!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (im not good at writing...... physical things and reactions of any sorts are greatly appreciated. like srsly, what do u guys think)


	3. bared claws but my confidence wavers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments genuinely uplift a writer like i keep on rereading the reactions to sort of encourage myself to find some kind of way to continue this story. 
> 
> im not a particularly talented writer. i'd rather just write than talk. think rather than act and venture into the world.. you know?

“So you’ll do it?” Sam beseeched, eyes of an oak tree made bigger and he jutted his lower lip for more emphasis. In high school, he’s the only reason why Jon considered the debate congress. And how he managed to balance arguing on stage and tennis, he doesn’t have any answers.

Jon lowered the file he was holding on the glass table. His gaze fell on his phone screen; thankfully, this conversation serves as a sufficient excuse in not texting her back. _Sorry I didn’t reply right away. Our accountant asked me some things._ There, he has a logical excuse arranged.

**_Daenerys: Love, I’ll be visiting my brother for the weekend so…_ **

He knows the rest of the message is a suggestion for a late dinner or drinks at the Wall. Would it really be a bad idea? He and Dany haven’t talked of labels and Sam, his best friend and favourite person, is in need!

Also why is she already calling him _love_? They’ve only gone out a few times. He has her number because he needs it for work.

“I’ll do it.” Jon agrees with a huff.

Sam grins, chubby cheeks curved and he goes around the table to embrace him. “Oh thank gods, Jon! For a moment there, I thought you’d condemn me to being single forever!”

He laughs and slaps Sam’s back. “No way, you’ve been crushing on this Gilly for ages! I’m just-how does she know Sansa?” It’s a light hearted question and Sam is in such a good mood he doesn’t have time to scrutinize the nature of his inquiry.

“Not sure really, but it’s a small world and all. Eight o’clock and we’ll meet the ladies at the restaurant.” Sam instructed him and patted Jon’s blazer. “Oh and dress up, yeah?”

A thought barged into his mind, at his acceptance, at _Sansa_ doing this for the same reasons he agreed.

( _and no, it’s not because they want to pretend they’re on a date. Who wants to be with someone you’ve known all your life? it’s Hallmark cliché, it’s something he doesn’t want to think of, not when he has the world in his hands so he can ignore the empty shape on his bed, the shape of her at his side)_

He leans at the table’s edge. “Sam, I heard from Sansa that she has a blind date. That was last week.” He brings up an inevitable subject.

Women as immaculate as Sansa _never_ stay single for a long period of time. She applied all those ballet lessons into her love life because she moves from one lover to another with angelic grace and all he can do is watch.

Since high school, Sansa has her eyes set for particular people that she deems worthy of her attention. Unfortunately, years later, she still believes the rose-colored glasses go with anyone she’s with.

A blind date set up by Sansa for herself makes sense.

Arya sent a picture of Dickon through their Viber group chat. She had a silly caption and the boys joined in the fun as Sansa tried to scold them.

( _it’s a feral and petty thing, to constantly want their blood on his knuckles. Even if Sansa is appalled by violent distaste for her partners, he can at least prove to her that pretty princes are no match against a knight. He, Robb and Theon have fancied themselves as such at a young age and he can’t shake it off._

_Princes rule and wear the crown. Knights’ fight for the realm, bloodies their armour for glory in battles. Jon knows the better option but he won’t make Sansa choose, can’t lose if you haven’t tried.)_

Sam taps his chin. “Well Gilly didn’t mention that but maybe it didn’t go well and that’s why Sansa agreed to coming along. I hope it’s not weird for you.”

“Weird, what do you mean?”

“Well, you consider Arya as your little sister, same goes to Sansa, right? Just think of it as a nightly hangout and not an actual double date if you're uncomfortable, mate.” Sam tugs his tie before Jon can sputter out a reply. “I want Gilly to feel comfortable around me and that starts with her friends, right? You taught me that.”

 _Yeah in college._ Jon nods. “I guess, but I’m just grateful for the free dinner.” He winks at Sam and he waves at his friend as he exits his glass walled office.

So a double date with Sam, his crush Gilly, and him and Sansa…. What could go wrong?

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The big night came and they entered the restaurant.

It held a tranquil environment. Low lit candles all around the floor, cloud white tables with minimalist decorations of flowers and tiny lanterns. Wordless songs wafted in the air, as did the Dornish wine and spices of the food.

Following the waiter, they are assisted to a table occupied by two chatting women. They stood up in greeting.

Gilly Wilde is beaming at his best friend so he knows they’ll hit it off like a home run. Her mousy brown hair matches her eyes, freckles dotted along her small face, and one of her teeth is crooked but she wears happiness well. Her dress is simple, sage green that makes Jon think she wanted a summer look; soft dress with gentle gold adorning her neck and sparkling earrings.

No doubt Sansa had a blast helping her friend.

“Gilly, this is Jon. He’ll be with Sansa.” Sam says and everyone shakes hands with each other, sits down, and orders their food and Sansa recommends a ‘charming vintage’ for the occasion.

Jon tries to not marvel at Sansa tonight. She’s exceedingly stunning tonight; most importantly, she’s wearing _red_ tonight.

_Embody the lava in my veins when I see you all dolled up, acting like the perfect good girl that you are, sweetheart_

He slightly cringes at that because in his defense, he was slightly drunk.

Her auburn locks curved at the end, brushing on her elbows. By the evening light, the copper seems to melt and the worst thing is, he _knows_ the weight of it on his palms, silk rings around his fingers as he tugs-

The waiter approaches them and fills their wine. Jon is reminded of Sansa's moans fromt he wine; addictive, sends thrills in his veins and his ears are blessed with her moans, her singsong way of uttering his name.

Sansa smiles, lovely crimson on her lips and Jon’s entire focus zeroes in on that. One question whirls in his mind; why did Sansa volunteer to be Gilly’s aid? Did she know it was him or she didn’t?

 _Would that matter?_ A dull voice hissed, hoping some sense will be roped back in his mind. _We’re here with her. And besides, it looks like Gilly is a shy thing, doesn’t have a lot of friends, so a social butterfly will want Gilly to be under their wings._

That was slightly mean. Jon sips at his drink and glances at Sansa, laughing at something Sam said; an attempt for Gilly to display that freckled beam once more.

“Sans,” he softly calls and there’s smugness he won’t show yet at Sansa’s surprise; thick eyelashes flutters and her oceanic gaze crashes against his misty eyes. “what would Dickon say if he saw you here with us? Hopefully he's not the jealous type.”

_(what would he do if he saw you with me? He wanted to say but what answer would she give? A joke? A lie? A half-attempt to flirting?)_

Her collarbone stretches and he wants to reach forward and sweep his thumb along the skin, upwards to her throat, cradle her neck.

He licks his lips and she shifts on her seat. Dinner is a distant thought when far more dangerous instincts surge in his veins, but the thing is, Sansa isn’t prey and neither is he. It’s not a fight but another dance she begins but it will never end.

Her fingers trace the rim of her wine glass. Jon’s knee bounces because those nimble fingers have mapped his body as though she’s an experienced hiker, explorer, a conqueror seeking the thrills in venturing into the unknown.

“Ah well, Dickon is a good man, but he’s in the military. He often moves about and I like where I am now.” She answers, stretching her hand that her index finger traces his ring; it’s a heirloom mum gave him, gold and onyx.

It could be an accident but she looks at him through her lashes. Jon wonders if she’s drunk already.

“Did you say Dickon?” Sam says, turning away from Gilly. “Dickon Tarly?”

Sansa nods.

The accountant laughs. “That’s my younger brother! He’s a handsome lad, eh? But you’re too good for him!”

They all laugh and Sam, encouraged by his best friend and hopefully his girlfriend, reveals a few childhood anecdotes that entertained their group.

Their plates came and they ate, drank, and laughed. Jon noticed how Gilly’s face is a perpetual blush from ogling at Sam. That’s good because Sam is one of the best people in this rotten world and he should be happy with whomever he wants.

Jon hides the jump in his posture, feeling the point of high heels on his calf. Staring at Sansa, her head is bent down, as she chews on the slices of chicken peppered about her salad.

Maybe it was an accident.

“Sam, how did you manage to drag this hermit out of his shell?” Sansa laughs. “Jon would rather drink bleach than participate in a double date.”

Gilly giggled and Sam damn _swoons_ at the sound and sight.

“I told him you’d be here.”

“I told Sansa he’d be here.”

The couple answered in unison.

Jon arched his eyebrow at that awkwardness. Or the implication that they volunteered for each other, for some reason the idea of the other is a comfort.

( _it’s almost a sweet sentiment; childhood best friends supporting their friends by going on this date. But when has anyone saw mated wolves and thought them to be sweet with their claws, fangs, and that possessiveness befitting their status?)_

But they don’t know, do they?

“I wouldn’t want to subject Jon here to an awkward night knowing I could help.” She sat straighter, pearl white teeth bared; the utterance of such a notion, of Jon being with another has always set her on edge. And Jon _loves_ the effect he has on her. “Anyways, how’s Dany, Jon?” Sansa wonders, her foot going higher up his leg.

Thankfully, their tables have enough distance so Gily won’t know what a she-wolf does when she’s angry.

He clears his throat. “Oh, um, she’s out of town tonight.”

She rolls her eyes, a childish thing to do. He almost teases her by asking ‘ _What would Aunt Catelyn say if she saw you do that?’_ She’d scowl so pretty it can only be unfurled by his teeth and tongue.

“I didn’t ask _where_ but how is your girlfriend?” She taps Sam on the elbow. “You’ve seen this Dany right?”

Sam nods. “Yes, she’s one of our biggest investors.”

“Ah well you see, I don’t know anything about her and Jon’s lips are sealed! He’s always been shy about his…interests.” Sansa glances at him pouts playfully like she doesn’t know his blood is fire and he wants to leave the restaurant before the last course.

Gilly, in HR, leans in and whispers, “Don’t worry, Sansa. Miss Targaryen is infatuated with Jon! He’s always the one she calls whenever her laptop doesn’t function well, always tapping his shoulder during meetings.” She divulges further. "It's those hints that _everyone_ can see!"

Jon blanches. Sansa hides her scowl well, mastered it over the years.

Sansa’s cheeks caves in as she drained her wine glass and gestured for a refill. She isn’t looking at him, porcelain neck elongated with no evidence of his bite marks and frantic love bites.

“Is she a good person?”

Jon understood the other question. _Is she a good girl like me?_ And the answer is no; no one else can entice him like Sansa does.

“She’s an efficient person. She’s aloof to us, but not your Jon though!” Gilly answers.

He ignores the accident Gilly has uttered.

He tries to not salivate too obvious now, but _oh_ his mind is sinking deep into his thoughts. He grabs her calf and he doesn’t’ react when she snaps her neck to him, startled. Fingers trail on the thin straps, inching higher to her calf.

She makes a sound in her throat, Gilly pausing in her joke to worry over her friend. She breathes again as Jon drags her closer to the table, subtly, inch by inch. “The wine, I’m a lightweight.”

“Dorne makes the best wine.” Jon further supports her statement with a chuckle. He drops her foot and she kicks his shin. It didn’t hurt at all.

The night ended successfully because Sam and Gilly are talking in low tones, intimately, and Jon is so proud of his best friend. Most likely, Sam secured himself a second date! College Sam wouldn’t believe him right now.

Sansa stands next to him as they wait for the other couple to get into an Uber. “Lovely night, Jon.” She lightly comments.

“So the only reason why you wouldn’t date Dickon is because he moves around?” Jon asks, not looking at her, pink cheeked because of the cold evening wind. He draped his coat on her earlier, repeating Gilly’s words in a cycle: _your Jon, your Jon, why would she even assume that when the entire building thinks I want Dany? How does Gilly know I love Sansa?_

She grins at him, head tilted that in an instant, he wraps his hand on her neck, pulls her closer. “Hm, well, I had to… try and work it out.”

It was cheeky, her teeth bit her lower lip and he leans forward to press a bruising kiss; not caring if her lipstick will leave its mark on his face. He's been dying to kiss her since Sam mentioned her name in the idea of the double date. Tongues swirl, her hands dig into his waist, their kiss gets sloppier, _needier,_ and they're completely unaware of how they make people passing by uncomfortable with their display.

He pulls away, Sansa is gasping and her hand is curled on his buttoned shirt. “ _Worked it out_ meaning you fucked him, hm?” He grumbles, his thumb presses on the side of her throat not as a threat because Sansa _loves_ it, the implication and how her eyes darkened; ocean’s depths found in her lust and wants and he wants to drown in them for the rest of their lives.

Romantic in a sense, Jon supposes.

“I did.” She confirms and he frowns down at her. “At his place though.”

( _there were the usual questions in his mind whenever he hears of Sansa and her nightly partners. Was she satisfied? Did she really want them like how he does? Why is it always at their place?_

_But he will never ask this one question, the words twisted in iron and steel weighing in his mind it could give him a headache: does she think of him when she’s with another? He doesn’t know the answer, fragile ice floating atop icy waters.)_

His thumb sweeps on the underside of her jaw and she curls on his side like a kitten. “Are you heartbroken?” He murmurs against her cheek, his nose can feel the suffusing heat. “Are you sullen you left him?”

“He was my type.” Sansa answers and Jon pulls away, placing a good foot of a distance between them, Sam and Gilly have left long ago. She looks smaller in his coat, but so damn good. “He was perfect.”

Jon stood straighter, his hand presses down on his shirt, jaw clenched. Why did he kiss her? Why did she kiss back? When will this tug of war end? “A perfect idiot for not doing more to be with you.”

“After the first date?”

“Well you guys did fuck. Maybe you spoke of moving in together.”

Sansa’s nose scrunched, as though she doesn’t like it when _he_ reminds her.

Jon’s phone vibrated and he turned away from Sansa, checking his phone. He’s surprised to see numerous texts from Dany and a couple of missed calls.

“You should call her.” Sansa suggests, looking over his shoulder.

Jon isn’t surprised nor does he hide the texts from Dany. The blonde keeps on asking him why he isn’t replying, that she had a few drinks and she misses him.

Sansa scrolls through their message and laughs a little. “ _I miss your pouts._ She doesn’t know your scowls, does she, Jon?” She coos.

He studies her; copper waves tussled by the breeze and his greedy fingers, the elegant slant of her nose, her shining and smudged lipstick he’s certain he has on his mouth, and that tiny smile on her face.

She really is beautiful and amazing.

“I’ll call her after I drop you off, then.” Jon decides, raises his hand so he can catch a cab.

Sansa circles her hand on his wrist to yank it down. “What if you mess it up with Dany?” He doesn’t answer, doesn’t know what to say to that. She briefly looks at her heels then at his shoulder, to avoid eye contact.

“You used to _always_ ask me for advice. You trusted me.” Her voice shrank and he didn’t like that, completely unaware she cared that Jon used to constantly call and ask her about how to react to a certain girl.

Sansa was always helpful and in return, he’d beat up her shitty exes. It’s their cycle.

“A good girl helps people, huh?” Jon muses, kissing her cheek when her face is apple red and she simpers.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sansa insisted on making tea as Jon calls Dany.

He sheds his blazer, hangs it at her coat rack, and he plops down on the sofa. Arya often drags him to her sister’s artfully decorated apartment, proclaiming no one else can bake like Sansa.

“She’ll be worried and insecure, I’m sure.” Sansa starts, sitting _right next_ to him. She dressed down of course and Jon isn’t sure if that’s better or worse for his mental state and questionably shaken honour. Thin strapped silk top and shorts that rides _up_ when she sits down. “You should say you’re sorry you didn’t call, that you went out with your friends in some sleazy bar.”

“Sleazy bar?” Jon repeats. “You don’t think your brother and his friends are sleazes, right?”

She giggles, her hair is in a ball of a bun, some stray strands caress that long swan-like neck. “Only Theon, so anyways, sound sincere and tipsy.”

Dany answers in the first ring and Sansa tries to hide her eye roll. Jon places a finger to his mouth to shush her.

_Jon, hi! Where have you been?_

He puts it in speaker, vaguely aware he’s breaking some rule in letting Sansa eavesdrop to a private conversation. But hey, they’re friends, of the loosest definition possible.

“Dany, sorry, I was out with some of the boys. We went to the Kraken. It’s a Friday.” Jon slurred, Sansa bit her lip and he tries to not kiss her while they’re calling Dany.

 _Oh, I see that’s why you haven’t read any of my texts. Honestly you shouldn’t. Viserys hosted a party at the manor and I’m inebriated myself!_ Dany laughs, loud and static through the speaker.

Jon looks up at Sansa and he says the words she mouths. “I hope you enjoyed the party.”

_I did, I did…. But I missed you…._

He didn’t like how sultry she sounded. Sansa leans her head on the sofa. Without thinking, because by the gods, Sansa is his own personal sin and he will never repent for it; he trails his knuckles across her cheeks, down to the exposed slope of her neck.

“You’re so lovely.” He murmurs in softest endearment, the sort he can only express behind closed doors.

_You haven’t even seen me!_

Sansa frowns and furrows her brows down at the pillow on her lap. And yet Jon doesn’t regret his compliment.

There was a _ding_ and Dany sent a picture to him.

Sansa flounced off the couch and walks down to the kitchen, clutching their cold teas on both hands.

“Dany, you’re drunk. Sleep it off.” Jon loudly says, hoping Sansa hears him.

It took a couple of minutes, hundreds of promises to call her tomorrow. Dany ends the call and Jon tugs at his hair, wondering how he’ll break it off with that woman. Shortly, he deletes the photo, not bothering to look at it. 

Standing up, he trudges to the kitchen and notices Sansa is humming a song as she squeezes lemon into their evening tea.

In his younger years, this is the precise homely image that would’ve warmed his icy heart and exhausted soul. Sansa, in the barest of her pyjamas, singing in their little kitchen, careless and unwinds from work. She’d kiss his mouth and hand him the warmed cup, drag him to the couch and they’ll talk about work and anything else.

Jon’s heart raced. He can’t do this again, think weak and weaker still because he just can’t express these messy feelings. “Sans, I have to go-“

“-Will it be okay if we have cereal for breakfast tomorrow?” Sansa asks, turns around. Under the fluorescent lights, the subtle freckles are practically invisible but Jon can spot them, wants to kiss each imprint and wrap her up in blankets and just _stay_ there. “I forgot to do the groceries because I helped with Gilly earlier.”

_I should go home. Greet Dany in the morning. Maybe ask Sam if he has any good looking relatives for Sansa. I should just get of here, it’s safer._

( _but when has a predator feared fear? Predators exude danger, does not back down just because the chances of victory is unknown, misfortune is clearer._

_Power is strength, Jon finds, and he has that in his bones, in the way he goes through life. wolves are feared because of their endurance.)_

Jon bobs his head. “Yeah, yeah cereal is fine. But don’t tell me you have that nonsense organic soy milk.” He teases.

Sansa gives him his cup of tea. “I’m drinking oats milk now. Jeyne says it’s better than almond.” She corrects him with a light tone. “And I have some of Robb’s old clothes. You can wear it for the night. It’s rather too late to go out, yeah?”

_No, it’s only midnight, Sans and you know it._

“Yeah,” Jon lies. “Yeah, it’s late.”


	4. winter comes but the heat stays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> abuse at the start. and i have a feeling u guys will have even more mixed feelings abt them. they're complicated and stubborn people tho, please keep that in mind. hopefully the past will shed some light to their behaviour...... (dont hate me too much ok?)
> 
> (remember when i said i'd not update this. haha fun times, anyways, still amazed at the comments and kudos, i hope i won't disappoint any of you that adore this little story of mine!!)

_It started like any other romantic story, first love at seventeen._

_Joffrey is the Disney Prince Sansa is convinced the gods gifted for her. He’s lean, small faced, but his hair is sunlight, with startling crystal blue eyes she’d love to get lost in for the rest of her life._

_What she didn’t know was the glitters of infatuation blinded her, distorted reality into a prolonged dream of hers, so perfectly crafted and executed. Bruised wrists are interpreted as intensely loving grips, his baseless insults are reprimands because she’s a young and stupid girl, his lustful stares and greedy hands are caring and another form of love._

_She couldn’t hide it for long; Arya knows everything. Naturally, the little rat turns to Robb, the oldest and overly protective._

_“It didn’t make sense Sansa wears sweaters and cardigans when it clearly didn’t fit the weather or her outfit.” Arya reasons, teary eyed but the scowl is deadly, and the bloodlust in her face is predatory._

_The wolves of their ancestors howl in their blood. Her snarl could make them proud._

_Robb called on his closest friends, Theon and Jon._

_Sansa stumbled, begged, and sobbed at her brother’s feet to try and stop him from hurting her boyfriend. “It’s my fault. I wear short skirts and other boys flirt with me. I didn’t mean to upset him. I'm a stupid girl, please Robb!” She recited her excuses until Robb had to embrace her, let the salt of her tears soak his shirt._

_Later on, the boys arrived and destroyed the tranquil evening air of a Thursday; shirts are covered in something else more vile; deep and thick red scattered on their faces, grim but victorious. Robb throws down his baseball bat on the living room floor, startling their parents._

_Father was red in the face as Robb explains in a flat tone. Mother flew to her, tenderly kissed her forehead and sobbed as Theon told them of the ribs they must’ve broken, his face is nearly unrecognizable, and Jon stares at her; blankly but he doesn’t look away from her brokenness._

_As expected, Father disapproved of their method, wishing they resolved it peacefully, and not give in to boyish violence with bats and bloodied fists. Mother cleans their wounds, gives them ice cream sandwiches from the freezer, and hugs each of them._

_Sansa approaches Jon, her hands trembling, twisting the cloth into the basin. “I’m sorry Robb dragged you into this.” She started, sitting between his knees; no one notices because Father brought Robb and Theon to his office, but Sansa insisted on helping Jon first._

_Jon’s curls are lustrous, messy from the fight. There are bruises on his handsome face, his lip is cut but she avoids that injury and focuses on the dried blood on his neck._

_Rugged knights came to Sansa’s rescue and all she wants to do is hug him. But she doesn’t, is convinced Jon is here because Robb can persuade anyone to do anything with that charming Northern accent._

_He says nothing, gently holding her wrist and pulls back the sleeve of her grey cashmere sweater. There, anyone can trace the hand print of a bruise ruining her pale complexion._

_“No man should treat a lady like this.” He murmurs against her cheek, a known fact but it’s sweeter with his unique rumbling tone. “I wanted to cut his hands off but I guess breaking them was a compromise.”_

_Sansa blinks, pulling back but one of his knees nudges at the small of her back. She stays there, transfixed, her mouth dry, and the towel is dry now. She has to soak it in the waters again._

_“You, you broke both of his wrists?” She echoes, strangely a rasp like the stubbles on his cheeks._

_He smirks and Sansa knows no prince in the world, fiction and in reality; exudes his kind of smugness for their innate savageness. “Robb probably broke three of his ribs. Theon got to ruin that asshole’s pretty face.”_

_He’s glorious in his own way. Sansa realized in awe, her fingers trailing on his soft cheeks. She blushed when he turns to press a chaste kiss on her fingertips. “Thank you.” She murmurs, again and again until she’s crying into his shoulder._

_She wants to keep that bloodied shirt, to remind herself of the fierce boys who’ll rough anyone up for her. But requesting that of him is mortifying, stupid, and Jon might think she has some perverse attraction to violence._

_(aren’t they wolves though?_

_Shouldn’t their hands be soaked in their enemies’ blood? Shouldn’t they howl at the moon and not boast of their kills, but to be known as the Royals of Winter?)_

_“I wanted to kill him for touching you.” Jon breathed at the crown of her head. His calloused hand rubs down on her plaid pyjamas and all she needed to do is climb on his lap, let him kill anyone else that dares to harm his princess._

_Sansa wonders if he means the abuse or the fact Joffrey is her first kiss. No, no, she thinks as she sinks the cloth into the water, Jon only sees her as a familial friend. He cannot possibly like her romantically._

_“Jon, Jon!”_

_She moves away from him, stands near the fridge, as Arya sprints to him._

_Arya hugs him. “You punched Joffrey for Sans, right?” She squealed, jumping on the balls of het feet. “Well, look at you, you’re a fucking disaster!”_

_“Arya!” Sansa scolds, neither pay attention though._

_Jon is grinning and nods. “The Lannister Lion is a mere cub compared to us wolves.” He declared, amusing Sansa’s little sister._

_“I’m so happy you’re our brother, Jon! “ The brunette coos and hugs him again._

_“Aye,” Jon says in his rolling accent. “we’re family and I love you all very, very much.”_

_Sansa is frozen at the spot. Of course they’re all family here. There are only rooms for fierce protectiveness, unwavering loyalty, and the bone deep sense of love. Nothing else should be lingering in their hearts._

_Family protects each other, she realizes, and Jon is that for them._

_(worst of all, Jon considers her a sister despite her hesitance._

_He isn’t a trueborn Stark, she used to chide Robb and Arya, but they do not listen. Why can’t they see sense and propriety like she does?_

_Perhaps she loves in the wrong manners; in twisting and confusing ways.)_

_/\/\/\/\/\/\/\_

_Jon didn’t get into a serious relationship until college._

_Sansa studied in a Southern college, assuring her reluctant family everything is fine. Father micromanaged her dorms, finances, and almost got his office transferred there just so she won’t be lonely. It was silly but she was flattered all the same._

_She loved the completely different environment of her campus. She made lots of friends, partied through raves and parties, flirted with anyone that caught her eye and slept with them if she wanted to. She excelled in her studies and was revered amongst her classmate as being the perfect student._

_In no time, she thought, she’d be the top of her class and she’ll conquer the world._

_One night, after finishing a research paper, she plops down on her bed, and her phone vibrates a message for her. It was Jon._

**_Jon: can I call you?_ **

_Her heart danced, the wings of the butterflies slid against her insides and she shivered. He didn’t message her in the Stark gc, featuring Theon of course; no, no this is a private matter Jon thought her best suited for._

_She hurriedly fixed her sloppy bun into a high pony tail, adjusted her sweater, and called him. “What’s up, Jon?” She greets casually, legs to her chest, and her fingers tap on her sparkly and freshly painted toenails._

**_It’s a bit silly, but I really need your help. I know it’s late and Aunt Catelyn tells me you’re star student there! So, um, sorry to bother you-_ **

_“Oh none of that, Jon!” Sansa laughs; Mother would brag about her to strangers and there is nothing new there. “What is it you need me for?”_

**_I like this girl, like-like she’s so fucking amazing. I think I’m in love with her from the first moment I saw her._ **

_Sansa jolts on her bed, realizing she has never knew what Jon likes in a girl. He never dated in high school nor did he show any interests despite Theon’s promiscuities. Robb was different because he’s only coming to know his feelings for her best friend, Jeyne Poole._

_Suddenly, her pending assignments mean nothing compared to what Jon prefers in a person. Jon is the gentlest man she knows, sickeningly thoughtful to the ones he cares about, boyish shyness that’s adorable, and those curls-_

_“Well, um, tell me some things about her.” Sansa advises, already grabbing her laptop from her study desk to open it. “Go on, I won’t judge if you go mushy on me, Jon.”_

**_Her name is Ygritte and she’s funny, her laugh is a series of cute snorts, and she’s the wildest girl I’ve ever known. Gods, I think I’m in love, Sans!_ **

_Her fingers fly on her keyboard and her eyes squint behind her stylish reading glasses._

_She has red hair, but more unkempt than hers. All her pictures feature the wilderness; hiking, stunning photographs of foreign forests and lakes. It’s obvious this girl is an adventurer. This Ygritte of his loves everything she doesn’t._

_“So this is your type, huh?” Sansa laughs, empty, but boys can’t tell the difference, especially the smitten ones for another._

_Jon laughs as well. **Can you believe she was the one who came up to me and asked me on a date? I was so shocked! So, here I am, asking you how to approach this girl because I don’t want to mess it up with her.**_

_Sansa thought back to her ex-boyfriend, Harry Hardyng. Another blonde and blue eyed prince that cheated on her; he was perfect, just her type of delusion she’ll divulge for the sake of love. She didn’t mention him to the family because he was uncertain at first, wanted until their second anniversary to introduce him._

_But then, he went the obvious way, betrayed her love and trust with hands that once held on roughly to her, with those eyes she used to love to write poetry for her lit classes. Her professor adored her romantic poems._

_She burned them the night they broke up. Curled in front of the fireplace, her face is disaster and grief, she stares as her perfectly scored poems churn into ashes, dries up on the wood, and the cheap liquor on her feet tasted as bitter as her broken heart._

_“If Jon was here, he would’ve beaten you to a fucking pulp, mess up your pretty face so no one would look at you without emptying their stomachs.” Sansa growled at his face; a bite into her threat like the she-wolf she is. “Your own mother would not fucking recognize a scum like you.”_

_(there is no word in any language that could perfectly capture the thunder in her veins at that image. She wanted to call Jon or Robb, sobbing into the speaker so they’ll come to her rescue faster._

_The cheater would be given near death experience by those men. He would regret even thinking unfaithful thoughts when Jon swings his bloodied fist into that perfect cut on Harry’s cheek._

_Sansa wants it so much she can taste it, the desire for justice.)_

_Harry, the perfect fuck up, glares down at her. “Jon? Who’s he?” He demanded because Sansa never mentions him in her fond family anecdotes._

_“Family,” Sansa answers, but it sounded wrong. “but he’s not here, much to my disappointment.”_

_She settled with a glass shattering slap. When she sees him around, she can detect her hand print, red and bruising on his cheek._

_Sansa is not Jon’s type. And she wants someone who appears perfect._

_“Okay, so since she’s forward and loves adventure, here’s what you do…”_

_/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\_

_Sansa doesn’t ask Jon on updates about him and Ygritte. She’s busy with school work, friends, and everything else in her life. Perhaps Jon only needed her in that instance and handled the rest of the relationship with his own instincts despite his lack of experience._

_Christmas came and she returns home. She nearly cries at seeing her siblings all grown up and their parents a little older. Sure she visited every year since she studied in such afar place, but she couldn’t help but get a little emotion._

_Everyone helps around in the house, blessedly full at all times; of bickering, banter, and loud laughter. Sometimes, Sansa wishes she never left home; would drop out of the scholarship just to snuggle into this comfy winter she’s known all her life._

_Arya enters her bedroom as Sansa quietly knits; it’s a hat for Rickon because that boy loves sledding too much. “Your advice worked too well.” She looked up, quirked a brow, and Arya settled at the edge of her bed. “He’s still with that ginger bitch.”_

_Her fingers paused for a moment but she compensated it with swifter loops. “Oh?”_

_She laid down on the bed, hand son her stomach. “Robb tells me bits because he’s concerned too. That Ygritte isn’t good for our old boy.”_

_“What do you mean?” Sansa inquires because she and Jon do not talk like good old childhood friends. It was one time, never to repeat._

_Jon isn’t the type to post any couple pictures on Facebook because Aunt Lyanna might see and start to demand for the wedding._

_“They always break up, make up, and Robb says the reasons are stupid and shallow, but Jon takes and takes. That bitch,” Arya kicks her foot in the air and Sansa slaps her knee. “has our dear Jon by the balls but we can’t do shit. Theon says they fight all the time. And you know what I heard from the idiot himself?”_

_Sansa is knitting faster know but she bobs her head._

_Arya growls in frustration and slams her small fist on the bed. “Jon wants to marry her. Like, Sans, what the actual fuck? Their relationship is messed up, right?”_

_“They, they have an unstable relationship.” Sansa admits. At the furious pace she has set, she’ll be done before supper. “It’s not the sort of foundation fit for marriage and children.”_

_The younger sister jolts up and snaps her fingers. “You know about this, it’s your expertise! You could talk some sense into him!”_

_Sansa shakes her head. “Oh, no, I possibly can’t interfere in his relationship.”_

_(even if it’s superficial and purely for physical reasons, even she could tell from the snippets Arya revealed to her._

_Why is that his type? A feeble minded and confusing person that would make his throat raw out of iration? Does Jon like unpredictably; the way this Ygritte changes with the moon’s phases?_

_Does he hate routines and everything Sansa has engraved to the very whites of her bones?)_

_Arya uses her huge puppy eyed look to persuade Sansa. “Please, Sansa, help our idiot! It’ll end terribly and it can’t go on. Graduation is almost here and if they continue on afterwards, gods, I think they’ll elope or something!”_

_Family protect each other, Sansa repeated the motto, almost dropping the nearly finished winter’s cap; family will protect each other at any cost; and the other redhead isn’t much of a consequence._

_She’s a nobody in the North; people do not know Ygritte’s name like they know of the Starks. They’re royalty and she is nothing compared to their blue blood and long line of respected ancestry._

_“He’s family.” Arya grounds out, scowling at her. “Even if it pains you to admit it, hate that he’s practically our brother, he still is no matter what you say.”_

_“Am I Jon’s hero in this situation?” Sansa muses._

_Arya rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeha, he’s the damsel in distress as of the moment. So you get on your high horse and go to him!”_

_It didn’t take long, merely thirty minutes, before Jon understood their concerns._

_“We just think it’s not for the best you continue to date this girl. She’s not, reliable emotionally wise.” Sansa puts forth._

_Jon nods, rubs his palm down his face. “So Robb and Theon told you, hm?” He sighs._

_Arya rolls her eyes. She wanted to be with Sansa when she tries to talk to Jon and she didn’t mind, liked to have company in this Herculean task to drag a lovesick man back to reality, to shatter the dome of love he trapped himself into._

_“Yeah, stupid. They’re so desperate they’re asking me for advice.” The freshman scoffs._

_His misty eyes settled on her, her skin tingles at the outward intensity he projects, studying the steady breaths in her porcelain throat, how she’s calm but inside, oh deep inside, she’s furious._

_“I am tired of this. It’s been going on all my college years. I should’ve, I don’t know explore, like everyone else. But no, I immediately settled for the first woman that wanted my number.” Jon laughs, self-deprecated and a little sad. “I’m pathetic.”_

_“You’re family above that.” Arya jokes and slaps Jon’s back. “So…..” She drawls the lone word expectantly._

_Jon glanced at Sansa. “I’ll breakup with her tomorrow.”_

_And he did because Sansa knows what’s best for him and that foolish girl didn’t live up to any of the criteria in her mind._

_She didn’t deserve Jon._

_/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\_

Dany is different from Ygritte. That little blonde _clings_ and _loves._

It’s sickening.

Sansa makes them both cereal; skipping in her step, and places a bowl in front of Jon.

The curls on his head are riotous at best, his eyes are heavy with sleep, and the basketball shirt with the faded logo is wrinkled because he has to fold himself on her couch. No way would they share the same bed space like they were-

“Thanks, Sans, and good morning.” Jon yawns his greeting and it’s better because of the added heaviness, the way he stretches and Sansa’s mouth dries up a little at that action.

“Morning, Jon.” She chirps, sitting at his right side, her phone at her other hand.

Jon stands up and Sansa thinks it’s to get his phone and greet his girlfriend. But no, he makes coffee for them. He gives her a cup and pats her shoulder.

She takes a sip, smacks her lips. “You know how I like my coffee?” She marvels with trickling giggles.

He smiles. “Yeah, but in my opinion, you put too much sugar and cream. Makes you miss out on the bitterness of brewed coffee.”

( _they’re opposites, in every sense of the word, anyone can see it for miles._

_But the heart doesn’t see, the greedy little thing. It’s senseless, and only covets._

_Truly, the downfall of humanity!)_

Sansa scoots farther from him and he laughs, louder. “Your coffee is disgusting to me, Jon. I can _smell_ the caffeine from here!”

Father likes his coffee the way Jon does. Sansa took to liking Mother’s more. At sixteen, she gagged at tasting Father’s coffee for the first time; the whole family laughed at her reaction.

_“You have a sweet tooth like your mum, sweetling. You won’t like bitter or sour things in life.” Father soothingly says as Sansa complains about her ruined appetite._

_I do have a sweet tooth,_ Sansa repeats, glancing at Jon from the corner of her eye.

“Thanks for letting me stay here for a night.” Jon says after swallowing a spoonful of breakfast. There was a thin line of milk dripping from his mouth.

Sansa reaches forward, her thumb swipes the excess milk and sucks it out of her thumb. “Do you like the oats milk?” She asks, chin on her palm.

Jon leans forward, knee against hers, thunderclouds in his eyes instead of the gentle evening mist, and he quietly says “Of course, sweetling. It’s healthy and a good girl is concerned about one’s health, hm?”

It’s a light insult; the only form of roughhousing they do. With Arya or the rest of her siblings, Jon would tackle them to the ground and wrestle like it’s their profession.

He crowns her that title, good girl, and she wears it proud, chin in the air, and her head cradles the words beautifully.

“Is Dany a good girl?” Sansa asks innocently, big blue eyes, and a nonchalant tone.

Jon rolls his eyes and pulls back. Sansa will always push _then_. “Your Dickon was a good boy, I bet.” He grumbles in a flat tone, almost glaring down at the bowl.

Sansa wants to laugh. It would make sense for two good people to find and love each other, right? And Jon has repeatedly told her she’s the best girl out there, so in that sense, Dickon, the picture perfect man, should be hers.

So how come Sansa is with him in the early Saturday morning? How come Jon hasn’t texted Dany? How come Sansa is thrilled at his biting words?

If Jon hears Dickon mistreating her, Sansa _just knows_ , he would break all of Dickon’s limbs and Jon's clothes would be soaked in her tormentor’s blood.

( _it’s an enchanting scene; a bloodthirsty princess and the violent knight at her side. Their story untold; would scare children like everyone fears the roaming wolves in the forest.)_

“He was good in bed, better than Harry.”

Jon gapes. “Who the fuck is Harry?”

Knights do not possess princesses like this. But they are neither.

“Ex in college.”

Jon relaxes on the current stool. “Ah.” He studied her in hesitance. “…Just good?”

She shrugs. “Maybe I should call him up again and re-validate my conclusion?” She asks him.

The ease hardens in his shoulders, tensing up the muscles, and his sharp jaw clenches in restrained annoyance. “So your current validation is ill-based?” he bit out.

Tapping her chin, she takes her time in drinking her coffee, the drink _he_ made for her. “It can’t hurt to retry like with you and Dany.” She pointedly snarled.

Jon looks down at the bowl again. “Maybe, maybe I should break it off with her.” He murmurs.

Sansa sits straighter in surprise. “What-why on earth?”

“All of you have been mocking her since I brought her to the party!” Jon exclaims in exasperation, hands in the air. He ruffles his curls and sighs. “And I don’t know, she’s clingy.”

 _Oh I know that._ “At least she clings, Jon, because your ex wasn’t interested in _being_ your girlfriend, remember?” Sansa gently reminds him, her hand on top of his.

Dany could be good for him. She’s gullible, loves Jon dearly, and Sansa has never been Jon’s type.

She knows it now.

“Will you call Dickon then, for the reassessment?” Jon asks her. Flipping his palm over, he now holds her small hand, their fingers intertwining, like her dreams and reality in this instant.

“Do you think he’ll be good for me?”

Jon drags her stool closer to him in a force that the strap of her top falls down on her arm. He stares for a moment, bit his lip, but kindly places it back on her shoulder. “He should be good _to_ you, sweetling.”

It wasn’t an answer but Jon should know what’s best for her like she does to him.

“Will you hurt him if he breaks my heart?” Sansa baited, eyes looking up him through her lashes, and he returns the fevered expression.

“Sweetling,” Jon grumbles against her exposed shoulder.f “If he hurts you, I’ll rip his heart out and shove it down his throat so he can choke to death.”

Sansa would’ve kissed him but their phones rang. Glancing, surprised, it was both Dickon and Dany calling _them._


	5. crossroads  made from pain and hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't hate me too much. enjoy this chapter. and I think I may have complicated everything..... as usual

Jeyne and Sansa often went to the gym but the bride to be is more determined to get into shape. Meanwhile, the Stark is here for her yoga sessions, as much as she thinks the poses are difficult, she enjoys a sweat.

And the gym’s cafeteria is another plus one.

Sansa’s auburn hair is pulled back into a ponytail as she swipes her cotton towel down her neck. One of the more challenging poses was introduced and Sansa didn’t like how it came as a surprise in their usual routine.

People passed by her, greeting her goodbye from their class. She smiles and waves at them and finishes her thermos of water before she went to meet up with her friends.

Her phone rang and she rummaged through her duffel bag and fished it out. “Yes?” She greeted her assistant, hinting that it’s a Saturday and a crisp afternoon at that.

 _Good afternoon ma’am, sorry to disturb your weekend but I have marvelous news!_ Whenever Shae uses that term, Sansa knows it’s good news. _Remember the social media campaign we launched a few days ago? It was a fantastic move on our part! Sales have increased and people love our latest clothing line!_

Sansa smiled, pride swelling in her chest. It’s one of her ambitions for her company to rise to the status she thinks it deserves. After all, she started as a temp in a local magazine but now, she’s in the city, managing her own company and _succeeding_ at that!

She wanted to dance right there on the yoga section of the gym.

“Fabulous, Shae, utterly wonderful!” She squeals and holds her phone tighter on her ear.

_That isn’t the best part, ma’am! The invites you had me send to recently popular models have arrived and the Margaery and Loras Tyrell have accepted to do a photoshoot! They said they love our current pieces and would be honored to wear them!_

Sansa gasps ad does indeed jump a few inches off the floor. “They accepted?” She repeats and her assistant squeals in reply which is considered an affirmative answer transcending the English language. “Oh my gods, Shae, this is so amazing! You know what, take the day off and buy a pretty dress!”

_I will, right after I draft your schedule for next week. You’ll be busier with the wedding afterward, ma’am but oh congratulations! You deserve it!_

“Send me the file when you’re done. And oh darling, thank you so much!” She ends the call and finds Jeyne and Robb.

They’re smiling at each other. Robb is swearing an old lacrosse shirt, grey, and fitting so anyone can notice the bulging muscles and toned arms. His shorts also showcase his toned legs along with sneakers that match his fiancé. Jeyne has her hair up in a bun, she’s wearing a purple tank top and leggings.

Her best friend jokingly shoving a towel at Robb’s face but she’s short so he merely dodges He laughs.

It was sickly sweet. Sansa wanted to wring out the secret from them. How it is they survived college _together_? That marriage is a viable option for them and shortly, Mother will no doubt be cradling their grandchild to her chest?

 _It’s unfair._ Sansa whines but she arranges the smile on her face. _I want their kind of love. They’re so perfect._

“Guys, I have amazing news!” She announced, popping the love bubble they trapped themselves into when they’re near each other.

Robb leans on the wall, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Oh yeah, we heard your banshee shriek from where we stand.” He teases her and Sansa punches his arm but it was no use; the idiot has been weightlifting since high school.

Jeyne gives her a bottle of water. “Go on, Sans.”

“Well, okay, so _the_ Margaery and Loras Tyrell will be in our spring photoshoot!”

Jeyne gasps and jumps along with Sansa, giggling like they were school girls. Robb hung back, smiling; big brother proud sort of smile.

“That’s so amazing, Sans! You’ll be noticed more now that you have the Highgarden Roses as your model!” Jeyne says, holding Sansa and hugs her tightly. “The pr of this would be insane. I’m already thinking of the scenery. Oh, we have to have a meeting to properly discuss this shoot.”

“I’m so happy for you Sansa.” Robb awkwardly states, patting her shoulder. “So that means you’ll treat us to lunch right?”

“Oh, you’re treating us to lunch, Sansy Pants?”

Sansa gasps and turns around to see her little devious sister cackling. “Arya, you ass!” She shouts.

When they were younger, she would’ve meant that insult but now, her mouth curves upwards. Their bickering has lessened; considering how when they were kids, Sansa would always shout and throw things at Arya. But now, they only use sarcasm and memes to communicate the sibling annoyance.

“What’s the big news?” Arya inquires.

She forgot how Arya is also a member of the gym that it was her idea they all should attend the same gym. _Aw, how sentimental!_ She cooed and Arya pretended to vomit.

“I have two of the most highly sought out models for my photoshoot!” Sansa said with a beam that matched Arya’s.

“Oh, shit that’s great, Sans! Yeah, you should treat us! Let’s go to Hot Pie right now!”

Everyone laughs at how eager the youngest woman became at the mention of a meal.

They got a table at the restaurant across the gym. Sansa is sure Hot Pie is a nickname Arya gave her friend.

As expected, Robb and Arya ordered a heavy lunch from the intense workout they went through an hour ago.

Chatters rotated amongst them. Jeyne talked about how the treadmill and dumbbells are tedious she misses yoga. Robb brags about his reps and sets meanwhile Arya calls his bluff and tells _him_ of what she did. She’s enjoying the MMA lessons she’s been getting.

Sansa listens to them, sipping her iced tea, eating her fill with burgers because Arya would _not_ have it.

“Sans, you’re a stick right now! You should eat one burger and I don’t know, drink a damn smoothie for dinner.” Arya scolds her but eats one of the curly fries on her plate.

“I hope, Sansa, you’ll find someone in the reception.” Jeyne slyly jests, pointing her fork at the redhead.

Sansa blushes. She broke it off with Dickon; even if he was sweet and perfect. If her heart isn’t on the same level as her body is, then the relationship won’t function properly. “I’ll meet them when I do.” She casually brushes it off, hopefully, someone will change the subject but Arya proves her wrong.

“Robb, I asked Jon if he wanted to go to the gym with me and he declined! I bet he’s with that blonde Barbie.” Arya snarls, ramming her fork straight through the meet.

Sansa’s hand clenched on her thigh; trying to stay silent and face blank.

Robb shifts on his seat. “Arya, you’re acting like a child right now. He’s in a relationship. You’ll have to share your brother with other people you know.”

Her eye twitched. Why did Robb phrase it like that? Their brother, the one they have a blood bond with, uses his gifts of words as a living. Surely, a lawyer could’ve said it better?

“What do you think of Jon’s girlfriend?” Jeyne cuts through the conversation in casual ease, like a gazelle strolling through a meadow and everyone stops and stares at her, all doe-eyed innocence.

Sansa thought back to his reluctance to that particular label.

_(can’t deny the thundering satisfaction in her bones, the thrill in her veins)_

“If he’s happy then he is,” Sansa answers, taking a sip of her iced tea. She narrowed her eyes when her lunch companions snorted. “What?”

“Well, it’s just that, Jon doesn’t stay long in a relationship when you think otherwise,” Arya answers, popping some fries into her mouth. “Sansa’s love advice is a law for him.”

Robb glances at his sister in surprise. “What?” He gawks; ever the oblivious one in the group.

Sansa scowls. “He’s a grown man. He can make decisions for himself.”

Jeyne sat straighter, the gazelle stretching her graceful neck and _smirks._ “Yes, and he chooses to listen to you about whom he should date. If you say you don’t like them, he breaks it off the very _next_ day.” She stated in a matter of fact tone, twirling her salad fork in the air, oaken eyes twinkling.

“You make me sound like a manipulative love guru.”

Her older brother chuckles. “He just trusts your opinion that’s all… I think.” He ends, noticing how Arya and Jeyne are grinning at the blushing redhead.

“No one, it seems, is good enough for Jon.” Arya teases. “I understand Ygritte, but Val was a charming girl. She went hiking with us twice.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “That blonde was emotionally stunted. She barely said how she felt and Jon was frustrated most of the time, except when they were on the bed!”

“Hmm, Satin?” Robb tried.

“He worshipped Jon. Didn’t bother to resolve conflicts because he was too quick to agree on everything Jon said.” Sansa answers without thinking. “See, perfectly reasonable complaints.”

“Precisely!” Jeyne cheers and leans in closer. “It’s interesting to know that you have both qualities his exes fail to possess. You’re emotionally intelligent. And you don’t put Jon on a pedestal so communicating your complaints and such will be easier.”

Silence responded to her words, too honest, the sharp words close to its aim. _No one knows Jon as I do. They didn’t bother. I do, I know his heart. No one deserves him._

Robb wipes his mouth and frowns. “But they don’t like each other, hon.” He tells his fiancé and Jeyne gapes at his idiocy. “That would be weird though? Like, we grew up and we’re practically siblings.”

Sansa didn’t know what to say if the waiter hadn’t asked them for refills on their iced teas.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The day of the photoshoot and the days before it was extremely hectic.

They decided the setting to be at Winterfell’s Park; a stunning place especially in the first give of spring.

Sansa met the Tyrells the day before when she volunteered to pick them up at the airport and guided them to their hotel. They’re beautiful up close and bared faced. Unfairly, even when they stepped off a plane, they’re effortlessly graceful.

Talking to the loquacious pair was incredibly entertaining for Sansa. She doesn’t have a lot of fashion friends so these two, the very top of their industry, in her midst, she can’t let this opportunity pass.

Sansa went to her apartment near midnight because of how lengthy their conversations are. Her cheeks hurt a little from grinning and laughing too much at their jokes; anything to get them to like her.

She fishes out her phone, they exchanged numbers because the siblings appear to enjoy her company. She frowns when she saw Jon hasn’t replied to her. Sure, all she did was greeting him a good morning, but what would the fuss be about there?

What would Dany find fault in that?

“Is everything ready?” Sansa asks Shae for the umpteenth time, pacing the park.

The taller brunette follows her boss with a salmon-pink umbrella over their heads. She adjusts her sunglasses. “Yes, ma’am, we’ve been over this like a million times!” She assures the redhead.

Sansa’s hair is twisted up in a bun, glittery layered necklaces decorated her neck, and she wore a sundress underneath a stylish coat. Her sandals weren’t practical for the grassy park but whatever, Margaery gushed about it so it wouldn’t hurt to wear them again.

“Ma’am!” Her assistant whispers and gestures to the approaching pair.

Sansa grins and walks to them, hips swaying, and her hands have delicate stoned rings on most fingers. “Hey, guys, so hair and makeup will be in those tents and the dressing rooms will be in the opposite tents!” She hides her squeak when Margaery and her brother kissed her cheeks.

“Morning, darling!” Margaery greets her in delight. Her long and wavy chestnut hair flows down to her small waist. Her top is a cream white and her high waist pants are stylishly colored, the ends graze at her ankle boots.

Loras pushes his Chanel shades up to his curls of golden grown, squinting at the sun. “I didn’t know I would be warm in the North.” He laughs then grins at Sansa. “Sansa, the winter rose, good morning indeed! We should take a selfie, girls!”

They do and the three of them post it, giggling at their unique captions.

“Oh, I am just so excited about this shoot, darling.” Margaery coos as they walk to the tents. “I for one would love to work more for your brand.”

Loras drapes his arm on her shoulders. “And you should visit the center of fashion, Sans. Honestly, you would just be magnificent.”

Sansa blinks at them in awe. “Really?”

Margaery pats her cheek. “Well, of course, darling! You have an eye for fashion, you’re gorgeous, and you don’t have a romantic attachment. So, now’s the time to explore your options and you have the immensity and talent for it!” She twirls around and they laugh.

“A beautiful and talented girl like you shouldn’t stay up here throughout her career. Sans, the capital would honestly love you!” Loras coos and goes to his respective tent.

As expected, the Tyrell siblings wore some of the spring samples with such grace and beauty. Jeyne, their photographer, loved it. Sansa oversaw everything and the angles and lighting were so fantastic. It’s no wonder why they’re some of the most sought out models at the moment.

They have been modeling since they were children and now, they elevated to countless magazines, built their faces out of their faces and their well-recognized name.

By the end of the shoot, Margaery is urging the crew to join them for drinks and dinner. Sansa is inclined to agree. She deserves that much reward. And to also discuss their fleeting suggestion of moving to another city for her career; they said it so casually Sansa is thrown off by their forwardness...

_Perhaps it’s safer that way. Jon is trying to be involved in this relationship. I have to think about._

She checks her phone and she _gawks_ at how her entire family has been calling and texting her. She hadn’t felt the vibrations because she walks around, pointing which pose is better and pour her entire focus into this immensely important task.

She calls Arya and to her surprise, she picks up on the first ring.

_Where the fuck were you?_

Sansa jumps at the sudden fragile tone booming in her right ear. “I-I was at work. There’s a shoot I handled.” She mumbled, perplexed as to why her little sister sounds like she’s crying.

_Sans, please come to the hospital. Oh, gods… It’s Jon, Sans…._

A breath got caught in her throat. Winter swept in her veins and her knees trembled. _Maybe he went for a check-up. Maybe he has his hand stuck in a vending machine or something._

 _Arya,_ It was Mother. Why was she with Arya in the hospital? _Sweetling, I brought you an extra shirt. You shouldn’t wear a bloodied shirt around the hospital._

Sansa’s crying now, barely registering Shae sprinting to her at seeing the tears ruin the makeup Sansa did this morning. “Wh-What…” She choked out.

_Jon’s been in an accident. It’s so… fuck… please come here. Just, we need you. Jon’s in bad shape._

Arya and Sansa were sobbing into this phone call.

Sansa didn’t realize she was on the ground, crying until Shae shook her by the shoulders, asking what was wrong. The words are mere buzzed sensations to her ears. Her vision blurry and she couldn’t properly see her friends surrounding her.

“I, I need to go to Jon,” Sansa mutters to herself, to anyone who deigns to listen to her. “He needs me. Gods, gods, what’s happened to my Jon…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a hard time deciding the path of this story. and I... had a difficult time feeling motivated enough to write this chapter. i felt like i should explore this story more if that makes sense?


	6. glitters in my eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoy this chapter!! react anyway you want through comments and kudos. i can take it (probably)

Sansa doesn’t remember the trip to the hospital.

Jeyne and her assistant practically dragged her through the doors and Mother were there, waiting for them. The older redheaded woman rubbed Sansa’s back, words her senses couldn’t properly process drifted into her ears.

She lays her head on Jeyne’s shoulder and Shae held her hand.

The elevator ride was awkward. She must’ve looked terrible, her styled fishtail is messy down her left shoulder, her cheeks are sticky with her ruined makeup, and she keeps on hiccupping against her best friend's shoulder. A nurse asked her if she needed a wheelchair but Mother declined.

They went to room _489_ and Sansa let out a cry at seeing all her siblings in the huge room. Jeyne ran to Robb, engulfing him in a hug and he damn near collapses against the small brunette. Arya and Bran ran to her sides and hugged her, murmuring soft cries and comforting words.

“I, I wasn’t listening earlier. What, what happened?” Sansa murmured as Arya fussed with her hair.

Bran stood taller than Arya, shaggy brown hair and his huge brown eyes are brittle. “Jon picked Arya up from her clinic when a speeding car got his side! Arya hit her head and was checked for a concussion. She refused to be confined though because she’s fine.” The last sentence was aid pointedly along with an arch of his eyebrow.

Arya stuck her tongue out. “I’m fine. It’s Jon,” At the utterance of his name, her shoulders slumped and she sighs. “The idiot helped the other people in the car. The lady got her leg stuck and he tried but…. It didn’t work… and…”

"Basically, like Twilight." Robb says aloud. "Except it didn't look cool and his arm bent the wrong way, but hey, he saved the woman!"

Her forehead is wrapped in bandages. Her shirt is new since Mother insisted she changes clothes.

Sansa can’t look at the hospital bed right now. She could trace his body, beneath the stiff white blanket, and the bandages around his limbs. So, she stares at her dirtied siblings, hands sinking into their shoulders, gasping for breath.

Of course, Jon would act like a hero. He’s the sort of person to want to save people, to rise above the problem and be stupidly honorable. It’s what she loves about him.

“He-he’ll live right?” Sansa looks to Mother as she did when she was a child, helpless and needs assurance. The confident smile Mother gave assuaged some of her worries.

“Of course he’ll be fine, darling. He’s just resting right now.” Mother coos, briefly hugging her before she goes to Rickon, asking if he’s hungry.

Gendry, Arya’s boyfriend, is distracting Rickon with some lame joke because of the youngest Stark giggles; the only joyful sound created in this room. He ruffles the young boy’s curls and Rickon gave him a crooked grin.

“I can get you guys somethin’.” He volunteers shyly.

Mother glances at Arya, blushing but tries to act casual. “That’s alright, dear, my husband is coming.” She answers.

Sansa goes to the bed, tears clouding her vision again. She grasps his bloodied knuckles, rough against her skin. Plush chair underneath her and she presses her lips against his hand. His right arm is cast, suspended on his shoulder, his face is littered with little cuts that have been cleaned and she knows he’s beyond exhausted.

He holds her hand tighter. A small smile beneath his beard and Sansa returns with her beam but her lower lip trembled at the weight of her relief. “Sansa.” The Northern rumble is music to her ears and they keep on smiling at each other.

“Stupid taxi. I can’t believe they, they just _crashed_ against you like that! You’re not a shite driver so I know you weren’t in the wrong here. And-and gods, I hope the driver got a notice or something because I could’ve lost you!” Sansa cries out, pressing her forehead against his leg.

She isn’t aware of her family staring at her in astonishment.

“Jon,” She hiccupped, blinking furiously. “I thought I lost you. I, I thought you’d be _gone_ and I-“ She sobs at his side.

Jon strains to sit up but she rushes, sitting at his side to not trouble him. “I’m here.” He mumbles, still holding her hand to his chest. He’s wearing a hospital gown so he presses her small palm to the skin where his heart is beating in slow beats.

She lightly scratches his chest and hugs him. “I love you so much. Jon, I love-“ She stops rambling, eyes wide, mouth agape at her rushed confession.

Everyone is staring at her. Arya and Bran are smug, Mother is astonished, and Gendry and Rickon are playing some game on his game.

The door swings open. Sansa's hand moves away from his comfort and sat with a steel spine. 

Father enters the room, talking to… _Dany_ of all people! It’s obvious he’s trying to cheer the woman up. There is also Lyanna, red in the face, splotchy cheeks and she goes to Mother.

The redhead welcomes her with a hug.

Dany’s blonde locks are braided elaborately down her back. She’s wearing a simple turtleneck blouse, fitting jeans, and boots. Her violet eyes brightened at seeing Jon. She eyed her curiously.

“Who are you?” The blonde asks, her voice is soft but loud in the silenced room they’re all in. She scanned the blank faces in the room.

“Ah, this is Sansa, my daughter,” Father says as he places two large plastic bags on the table. He bends down to talk to Bran and Mother, greeting them with kisses.

Dany straightens herself. “You don’t look like Arya.” She gestured to the small brunette and Arya subtly glares at Dany. She smiles. “But it’s so lovely to finally meet you, Sansa, you must be one of Jon’s sisters!”

Gendry and Bran coughed awkwardly and the women glared at them to shut the _hell_ up. Father scanned their faces with curiosity but he didn’t act on it. He’s a secretive man. He’ll snoop around for sure.

Sansa slid down the bed and stood at the bedside instead. Fixing her composure and bobs her head. “Well, Arya and I are still sisters, despite everything.” She laughs.

Dany walks to her and hugs her. She’s a short woman but one that can captivate everyone in the room. “It’s weird though because Jon hardly mentions you. The others, I felt as if I know them already.” There was a glint in her eyes. “But you, I don’t know anything about you.”

She isn’t sure how to respond to that. Their relationship shouldn’t be discussed with someone like her around. And she _just_ confessed her feelings to Jon moments ago. She could still feel his searching gaze burning at the nape of her neck.

“Well, I’m sure whatever difficulty you faced in the past, it’s irrelevant because families stick together,” Dany answers in a childlike naïvety along with that cheek denting grin.

“Yeah.” Sansa breathes out. “Excuse me.” She whispers and lets Dany fawn over Jon like the dutiful girlfriend that she is.

Arya stands in front of her. “Dude…” She mutters and Sansa caught the implication. _What the fuck was that back there? Do you love Jon? Our Jon? The idiotic heroic Jon?_

Sansa shakes her head. “Don’t.” She growls and calls Shae into the bathroom so she can fix her makeup and hair.

After washing and cleaning her face clean, her assistant finally spoke up. “So the man you’re in love with is dating that pretty blonde.” She deadpans, handing Sansa her small pouch containing the beauty products.

“I wasn’t thinking. Jon, he’s…” Sansa doesn’t want to finish that sentence. She reapplies her makeup as Shae redoes her hair. “Maybe life in King’s Landing is what I need.”

Shae frowns at that. “Convenient, ma’am?” She teases.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sansa is a coward, a cowering wolf in her den. She knows and _hates_ it.

She visits Jon, of course. Her siblings and friends visit him the most time of the day. His injuries include two broken ribs and a broken arm. Bran and Rickon praised him for being awesome. Arya and Gendry make sure he’s really resting. Robb and Jeyne are thankful he didn’t have any serious injuries. They were willing to postpone their wedding for him but Jon blushed at that, stating it wasn’t necessary.

Dany fussed over him like he was a bird with a broken wing.

Sansa made sure there is always another person in the room with them. She doesn’t approach him, always hangs out with someone, talk to them, and pretend Jon isn’t staring at her, pleading with those soft grey eyes.

( _humiliation is something a predator detests to know. Bitter tang on staining their tongues that have proclaimed their pride._ _What a wolf hates the most is to lick their wounds.)_

Jon’s girlfriend is a darling girl. She genuinely cares for Jon, laughs along with Robb’s outrageous drunken college experiences, and she talks about her distant life; living abroad, where snow has never touched the ground. Arya kept on asking her questions, as did Bran until Mother told them to give her some space.

Sansa sat back, a cautious red wolf, as her siblings fawned over the stranger. She sits beside Jon’s loquacious guests, using her phone, suing the excuse for work as to why she’s not talking.

The photoshoot was a success.

When she finally got a drink with her crew and the famed models, Margaery dropped blatant hints of how profound her contacts are and Sansa’s career could be… nurtured more where the sun is blistering hot. Loras bobbed his head though, in the next minute, he’s slipping away from his stool, the girls laughed.

“Sansa, won’t you come with me?” Lyanna asks with a small smile.

Dany looks up from her book, frowning a moment before raising the book higher.

She follows Jon’s mother out in the hallway.

“Jon is a reckless fool, don’t you think, Sans?” Lyanna laughs a little.

They continue walking down the hall, making their way to the elevator.

Sansa smiles. “Yes, yes he is. He loves playing prince and I guess he never shook it off.”

Lyanna has been a part of their family for as long as Sansa recalls. Being neighbors made everything easier for the kids to play and befriend one another. She used to watch them by the patio, enjoying cold lemonade, while the boys roughhouse or chase each other out in the yard.

Lyanna’s cedar brown eyes scrutinized her. It unnerved Sansa as though Lyanna understood the troubles she’s going through. “Jon will always want to protect, to do the right thing.” She muses, speaking in riddles when Sansa only wants to escape this topic, to never approach her embarrassing feelings.

Yes, she loves Jon. But they can’t, not now, not ever.

( _wolves have mates, Father once told them in a hunt. Arya wasn’t interested; the boys snickered while she found it romantic._

_But wolves love in a different way, he said, fierce, bloodied claws, and the warmth of their love to keep them warm in winters.)_

Perhaps Father knew what he was talking about because he’s a happily married man. Maybe he wanted to warn them about how they should handle the feelings they have, to not waste them on faceless greedy people.

But to match their love in an instinctual manner; like how animals stay together. Only wolves can endure each other's lusts and greed. 

“I used to think you would get along.” Lyanna sighs, as they exited the elevator. She glances at the stunned redhead and giggles. “Now, don’t you pretend I don’t see your lovesick gazes. I’m old but not blind, mind you!” She loops her arm through Sansa’s arm and they walked along with the lobby, not going anywhere.

“He’s with another.” Sansa reminds Lyanna.

“Hmm, yes he is because it’s what he thinks he should be doing right now.” Lyanna answers and pats her cheek.

“You don’t like her?” Sansa doesn’t dare say her name, for fear the green in her tone will glow brighter out of its fierceness. She can’t act jealous, has no right to do it. But she asked the question anyway.

Lyanna was silent for a little while, eyes scanning the busy scene around them. “Jon doesn’t love her, tries to, because when you’re in a relationship, that’s the foundation and reason for everything. And so, he wonders, why he isn’t in love? Why he finds love somewhere else?”

Sansa shrinks back in shame but the smaller woman tugs her forward, smiling warmly as though everything is alright. It’s confusing her. “I don’t understand.”

Lyanna pats her hand. “Love is a study that takes a lifetime or more to comprehend, my young grasshopper. Enough of that; I want to know about you, sweet girl.”

And they talk for hours; Sansa revealing her choice and it isn’t a surprise Lyanna is supportive.

They came back to the room with dinner and smiling like they were schoolgirls.

Dany lowers her gaze to her finished book, furrowed brows, and pinched mouth.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Days later, Jon is released from the hospital but he has to keep the sling for his broken arm for a month.

Robb throws a party at the Wall, in celebration of his best friend being a ‘damn hero’. Everyone is invited, even the students namely Bran and Rickon, but Mother was confident there would be alcohol and has set a curfew for them.

Father is talking with Sam, Jon’s best friend, while Gilly, Mother, and Lyanna are talking about gardening. Arya, Gendry, and Bran are having a darts competition as her brother sneaks a shot of whiskey to Rickon. The youngest Stark gags and hurriedly requests for a glass of water with tears in his sweet eyes.

Jon and the blond are talking to her brother but an hour later, Dany expresses her regret in having to leave. _Work, it just never stops, I’m afraid!_ Everyone hugs her but her gleaming amethyst gaze lingers on Sansa for a few seconds. Then, Jon joins their parents as nothing happened.

Jeyne approaches Sansa, standing awkwardly at the doorway. “Hey, Sans, come on, let’s buy you a drink!” She encourages and brings her to the counter.

( _a social event will always bring them together. It’s a dance that will never end. It's a wordless song her heart beats for and there is no other dance partner than Jon.)_

“I can’t drink right now,” Sansa says, startling her best friend.

“Oh my gods, you’re pregnant?” She guesses and the redhead has to shush Jeyne so no one else will hear her.

“No, no.” _If I get drunk, I think I’ll cry because they’re five feet from us!_ “I’m not in the mood.”

“Not in the mood for alcohol is exactly the reason why you _should_ ,” Arya advises from behind Jeyne’s back. She winks at her then refills three glasses. She orders the fourth drink of margarita and slides it to Sansa. “Come on, loosen up.”

Their parents went home with a tipsy Bran and Rickon is drooling on Father’s shoulder. Lyanna goes with them, claiming she’s tired by all the festivities.

“More fun for us, eh?” Gendry muses.

And she does, drink after a drink; she leans on Jeyne more, whispering her shamed secrets amid family and friends. Everyone around her is laughing and having fun. Sansa is _miserable._

_I love him so much._

Jeyne doesn’t react, only pat her head ad hands her a bottle of water. Sansa orders a refill.

_I’m moving away. Let the heat and sun melt everything away. Can love melt like sadness into tears?_

The future Stark gapes, searches her surroundings but no one reacted to her ramble.

Sansa leans on the bar and pounded her fist on the wood, no sound because of the feeble attempt. She turns to Jeyne, fierce and cheeks flushed. Her eyes are haze and her mouth shines from how drinks she’s been having.

“I can’t do it anymore. He’s always close and it’s _suffocating_ but also not because I want more but I can’t. I shouldn’t!” She sobs and thanks to the bartender for the refill. Jeyne glares at the man.

Jeyne combs her fingers through Sansa’s silky locks. “I never knew _the_ Sansa Stark would run away from love.” She softly says as she brings a glass of water closer to her. Lifting her head, Robb catches her meaning and excuses himself and goes to them.

Robb glances at Sansa and laughs. “My sister can’t handle her liquor, hm?” He pokes Sansa’s cheek and she huffs at him.

“I am _fine._ You know what, I feel bloody brilliant!” Sansa exclaims, suddenly sitting up and she could’ve slid out of her seat like Loras if not for Jon, holding her down with enough gentle force.

She looks up at Jon, one arm suspended in a sling, and the other is on her shoulder.

( _a damaged knight goes through all hells for a hopeless woman. He’d bring down the heavens with hellfire if it means she will smile at him with love for once. A wolf and a knight; oh how these things would constantly battle in his blood? Muddle the intentions with murky crimson dripping from his teeth._

_He’s carelessly in love and he’ll wade through wars to get to her)_

“You are so fucking stupid.” Sansa snarls, hand on his shirt, curls it. She wants to push him away, to crack her chest and dispose of her heart that covets him too much, for too long.

( _but will he cradle it like a priceless treasure? Will he love Sansa as fervently as she loves him?_

_She doesn’t know. She can’t know; the forbidden romance so potent it could bring the universe to burst.)_

“You tried to rescue people? Are you fucking dumb?” Sansa cries out, punching his chest. “You’re not a fucking knight, you goddamn _moron._ You can’t just go risking your life when people worry over you!”

Everyone in their circle felt amused by her emotional tantrum, but most of them have heard her confession with no influence of alcohol.

Jon rubs her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sans. I’ll try to be more careful next time. I promise.” He professes, bending down to look her in the eye, to strengthen the conviction he speaks with.

Sansa’s smeared mouth twists at that. “You promise?”

_I don’t want you hurt._

“Yeah, Sans, of course.” Jon breathes into her cheek before kissing her forehead. He does the same to Arya and Rickon. But somehow, his lips linger for a beat exceeding its appropriation but he pulls back like he always does.

It’s a familial thing, a loving act of being devoted. Sansa’s stomach churns at how her head will cradle that kiss like a crown. Jon has always treated her like a princess so this isn’t anything new.

“Well, good because I’m not sure what would happen to you while I’m at King’s Landing.” Sansa laughed, confusing her friends but not of her best friend.

“What does she mean? Is she leaving?” Arya asks Jeyne.

Jon looks down at her again, this time out of sadness. “I think she needs to rest. She’ll talk when she’s sober, yeah?” His crooked finger brushes under her chin.

Sansa smiles dreamily at him, at anything he’ll say. “Yeah.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jeyne stayed over which Robb understood.

She cooked breakfast for them both. Huge homely plates of eggs, sausages, and pancakes with sweet maple syrup; Sansa couldn’t ask for a kinder person than Jeyne Poole.

“Why did you allow me to get drunk?” She moans as she drinks a warm cup of coffee.

“Because you were retreating into yourself and wouldn’t talk about… _that_.” Jeyne answered archly, cutting her pancakes into finely even pieces. “Everyone knows you’re in love with Jon, that’s fine and dandy. But moving to another city just to try and get over him? That’s a new method in your checklist and please do it after my spectacular wedding.”

Sansa snorts. Her memories are fuzzy at best. But she remembers Jon kissing her forehead, Arya sneaking in drinks for her, and how Robb helped her up to her apartment.

She doesn’t recall _what_ she spilled. Jeyne informs her and she groans.

“That, it’s not because of my pathetic personal reasons.” She tries feebly, not convincing Jeyne at all. “I’ve been told my company is getting more known. It would be great to expand the business, to go into the heart of fashion. It’s just an idea of course. I’ll have to think about it.”

The door vibrates with frantic knocks, startling the women.

Sansa jumps off her seat. Her hair is twisted in a messy bun, her pajamas are puppy patterned, and her head is faintly ringing. Opening the door, she’s surprised to see Jon on the other side.

He’s leaning on the doorway, sweating. “I did it, Sans. I broke up with Dany.” He stood taller but the nervousness could be seen in his tensed shoulders, fidgeting hands on his polo. “And I just, I love you too-“

“What?” Sansa gasps, stepping back, hoping to the gods above this is some dream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rlly would love some feedback for this bc I don't want to mess this story up
> 
> (it's not really a cliffhanger if you comment on what'll happen next!)


	7. the edged memory spilling crimson into my present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to comment ur reactions!!! (hope you were mildly entertained)  
> (wrote this while i was sleepy so i'll edit this once i wake up from my coma)

Euphoria, her heart wanting to break her ribcage and jump into his arms, the way Sansa’s knees trembled as she staggered back; those are the benchmark reactions to hearing a confession.

Her cold hand gripped the front of her shirt as pure and overwhelming terror creeps up on her. Jon’s shoes move as he enters the apartment but Sansa can’t look at his face right now. She’d be looking at someone…. at _him…_ and she can’t possibly do that at the moment.

“Please say something.” Jon pleads. His honeyed voice had once urged her to jump off a cliff.

Gods, she _is_ a stupid girl. Her plan failed

Sansa stands up, hands on her hips, and a false laugh on her mouth. “Ah, I see. You-you’re practicing your confession to me! Okay, okay, so, who, who is it really?” She stammered pathetically. Her, Sansa Stark, wobbles in the topic of love.

It’s all _his_ fault.

( _it’s her doing as well, for wanting and craving the impossible. A wolf is greedy in nature, covets the world even if their claws will be bloodied._

_She loves so fiercely and it’s senseless.)_

Jon gawks at her, eyebrows nearly disappearing behind the curls on his forehead. “Sansa, I’m tired of this game. We both know what’s happening-“

“-What game? Look, you just broke it off with Dany so maybe you need some time to process it. We have cereal.” Sansa tries again, her voice remains shaky. “Please.” She added and his grey eyes hardening like steel, to never bend for anyone.

He rakes his hand through his hair, jaw coiled like a compressed spring. “Sansa,” Her name spoken like a warning and she knows her options are vaporized into thin air now.

“What are you here for? Why would you say _that_ to me now? Are you insane? I guess you are after that accident. You know what? I’m contacting his company and sue him. Yes, Robb would win in no time. Then we can buy ice cream with the money so we can cry over Disney movies-“

In the midst of her rant, Jon approached her, gathering her icy hands into his large and warm hands. “Because you told me you love. And it’s long overdue, we both know it!” He beseeches, could’ve gone down on his knees if she asked.

Sansa just _knows._

She ripped her hands and tugged her hair, groaning. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m in some terrible nightmare right now.” She whips her head to him, standing by the closed door, and just him being here is enough to make her head spin in its own space. “We’re so different, Jon. This is why our friendship works because it’s safe, nothing can _ever_ happen between us, goddamn it, I was so sure! You and I… our personalities are the epitomes of polarity!”

“What do you mean?”

Sansa started to pace. Father said when Mother was pregnant with her; she’d walk all around the estate until the ground and floors dented with the gait of her anxiety.

“Our dating history can attest to our preferences and literally _none_ of their traits can be found in us. Jon, we’re friends because we’re not meant to fall in love. Do you understand? This wasn’t supposed to happen.” She elaborates, sniffling as she goes on. “What we have this nameless and taut thing; it’s the most ideal situation for people like us.”

She rubs her palms into her eyes so she wouldn’t cry too much.

( _this is a nightmare underneath the glittery pink love look she keeps on sending his way. She should be practical. She shouldn’t think with her heart as the priority._

_She can’t risk more than she already did. The cracks in her heart feel painful against each orotund thud. Her brokenness being known during this fight makes the despair weigh more heavily in her mind.)_

“But it did happen though, we fell in love.” Jon points out. “I don’t understand but why did you tell me all those things in the hospital then? You pushed this into the light and I thought it’s our salvation. Finally, we’ll get to do something about this.” Jon demanded.

“I, I don’t know. I panicked, okay? Look, I love you as a friend.” Sansa squeaks and it’s the wrong answer. If this was an exam, she would’ve failed and attended summer class.

Jon rolls his eyes and Sansa huffs a breath. “Fucking _bullshit_ response, princess.” He growls. “So you don’t feel the same way then?”

She recalls Harry confessing to her. Sansa felt like she was in a generic romantic movie. Harry, the perfect, blonde, and blue-eyed jock asked _her_ out. She couldn’t stop screaming into the phone call with Jeyne as she jumped on her bed.

But he wasn’t anything like she hoped he was.

Sometimes, she thinks she can see the bruises Joffrey imprinted on her under the fluorescent. Sometimes, she shops and doesn’t buy items because she can hear his vile comments about clothes being too revealing and short.

Sansa wishes she punched that boy instead of pleading for another sort of resolution to her brother.

She would smile, remembering the broken and bloody mess Robb and his friends left for her.

She was in love back in both cases. _They_ said their feelings first and she danced to their tunes like it was a ballet recital.

Why remember it now?

“I, I need time.” Sansa decided.

Jon’s face broke as she rejected him. She wishes she could or maybe the better option is for them to forget this ever happen and go back to the preferable company they’ve been doing for years.

_That’s what I want… that’s what I should want._

Returning to the kitchen, after Jon exits her apartment, she notices Jeyne is glaring at her. “What?” She spat, sitting down on the stool, and slices her cold pancakes.

Her best friend softens and she pinches the bridge of her nose so she won’t completely snap. “Sans, I heard everything.” She went to Sansa’s side. “Honey, do you want to talk about it? You’re clearly… distraught about what happened.”

Sansa leaned on Jeyne’s shoulder, letting the brunette stroke her hair. It was always their go-to thing whenever one of them feels overwhelmed in their dilemma.

“Distraught, maybe? It’s a whirlwind in my chest and I don’t know what to do with it. I’m a fuck up, Jeyne.” Sansa whispers lowly.

She feels a gentle squeeze on her shoulder. “Yeah but you’re still my maid of honor and bestie.” There was a pause, Sansa staring at her unfinished breakfast, and Jeyne, glaring at the wall. “Sansa, if you want to voice your thought out loud in order to arrive at a decision about all this, my ass is here for you. I don’t even have to comment or object if you don’t want to. Hell, I’ll gladly help you murder someone but, really, we’re in this shit for life, Sans.”

“Life really is shit, huh?” Sansa darkly muses.

Jeyne snorts. “Nice try, Stark, but I’m getting married to the love of my life, to a fucking ace lawyer. Life is the way you make of it.”

“You sounded smart there.”

“ _’ Sounded’?_ Sans, I’m the shit!”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jon always brings a pack of cold beer whenever he visits Sam.

The accountant opens the door and frowns. “Is your new cologne a bottle of a liquefied ashtray, Jonny?” He complains but he accepts Jon’s gift and heads to the kitchen. “Seriously, get the spray. Gilly’s coming over for dinner tomorrow and she says she hates smokers. Her dad was one. And she _hated_ him.”

He lops down on the long and grey sofa, face down, knowing full well his meek friend will chop his feet off for putting shoes on the pillows.

Sam yells his name and he groans, covering a pillow over his head, hoping he’ll pass out before he cries. “I’m going to cut your feet off, Snow. I mean it!” He warns, tugging the pillow.

Jon releases his hold on the pillow and lets Sam whack his head before sitting by the chair nearest to the crackling fire. He sits up, only now noticing how his cheeks are stained with his tears.

“Jon…” Sam softly calls but he doesn’t look up or wipe his face. He approaches the glass table, to lower a cold beer on a coaster and to sit back down. One sip from his bottle and he finally says the words Jon dreads. “It didn’t work out, huh?”

He grunted, slouching terribly against the couch and he closes his eyes.

“I’m not a bloody telepath, Jon. You’re going to have to tell me what happened.” Sam gently reminds him. “Or…. Is it too horrible for you to recount.”

“Sansa, she,” Jon paused “She was so scared of her feelings for me. She said shit about us not being compatible but it sounded like she was trying to convince herself of her arguments. And you should’ve _seen_ her face, she was so shocked to know of my feelings! Then, _then_ she was angry at me like she didn’t say it first. And now, I don’t know what to fucking do!”

By the end, he’s heaving, the few last words tremulous, and thankfully, he isn’t holding the bottle because he’s sure it would’ve shattered in the pressure of his pressed fist. He eyed Sam, hesitantly; this is the most of a reaction he expressed whenever a breakup occurs.

But there _was_ no breakup. Sansa rejected him. At least he thinks she did because she was crying and not out of happiness. He’d never think for one second he could be a reason why Sansa Stark would be so perplexed and teary-eyed at something.

( _ever since he was seventeen, witnesses a girl cry, Sansa sob at her brother’s feet, for the first time; Jon swore he will never hurt a girl enough to break her soul._

_Did he do the wrong thing? Will this love hurt her?_

_He nearly apologized for how his heart is a wild and greedy thing.)_

Jon wonders how wolves know who their mates are. It’s probably an instinct, never a thing to ponder on, and Jon wishes now, to know what it feels like, to have the fated person and to be so sure of pouring their heart out as he did.

“Was-was it a mistake? We’ve known each other our entire lives. What if she _did_ mean it as a friend? Ah, fuck-“

“I have a feeling Sansa feels the same as you, in both romantically and doubt,” Sam advises. His bottle is half-way empty and he’s staring at the fireplace instead of his distressed guest. “When she goes to you, let her lead the conversation but not dominate, okay? Speak of your own feelings too because wanting to be in a relationship means the _both_ of you will commit to it. And communicate, that is super important.”

He whistles, taking a sip of his beer. “Damn, Sam, being in a relationship suits you.”

Sam laughs. “It does, yeah. Falling in love is like drinking wine. It sounds fantastic idea, you love how it makes you feel, lightheaded and stupid then you realize you’re drunk on it.” He blushes at Jon’s teasing smirk. “Ugh, whatever, Snow. Now that you’re here, let’s try to practice cooking a fancy meal.”

“Uh, what now?” Jon whines, trying to sink back to the couch but Sam tugs him by the arm. “Sam, I just confessed to the girl I’ve loved since I was sixteen. I’m not even sure if she loves me back and you’re asking me to cook for you?”

“Oh fuck mate, I wouldn’t want you to cook _for_ me. You’d cry into the dish. No, no, you’ll just prepare everything and I’ll do the rest!” Sam fished out his phone and showed the recipe. “We’ll forget about your heartbreak because we’ll buy the ingredients and make our own lunch.”

He smiles at Sam and sighs as he stands up. “You’re really pushy.”

Sam claps Jon’s back. “You’ll be getting a free lunch so I suggest you mince and chop everything to perfection, hm?”

Jon laughs. “Yes, chef!”


	8. the heart doesn't think, what a dumb organ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fell out of love with this one but i had an idea. i like the ending but u know, people's views differ and whatnot. comment whatever you feel like after reading it guys

**_A year later…._ **

The promotion wasn’t Jon’s idea nor was it to his liking. He wanted to visit his mom over the weekends and not settle with video calls. He wanted to stroll through Wintertown, chilled breeze, and layered coats on him. Not suffering the damned blistering heat of King’s Landing and suffering the crowds and tempers of people in the capital.

But, here he is, in his condo listening to Lyanna prattle about the latest flowers she added to her garden. The veterinarian grins as she pivots her phone to the lush greens and vibrant colours of her flowers. They were numerous and well taken care of. 

“I hope you’re doing as well as my lilies and tulips, young man.” Lyanna warns with a giggle. Sitting down on the long bench beneath the extended roof of the house, she ties her chocolate locks into a bun. 

Jon sits straighter on his sofa. “No one can beat your tulips, mom. But I’m fine here.” He murmurs, his fingers tap against the heated surface of his mug. The coffee will be warm when the call is over. 

Lyanna frowns. “You look a bit thin, love. My, my, what on earth do you feed yourself there?” She uses her stern voice like he’s a misbehaving pet in her clinic. “You know what? I’ll tell Sansa to bring you some homemade meals! That’ll fatten you up!”

Panic and confusion siezed his heart. “M-mom, don’t! Honestly I am _fine_.” He emphasized, heartbeats roaring in his ears. “Why text Sansa? She can’t just fly hundreds of miles just to feed me.” 

Her hand flew to her mouth, beige browns wide in shock. “Oh dear, you don’t know Sansa moved to the city a few months back?” She whispered, moving her glass of lemonade aside to gawk at her equally surprised son. “I-I thought you knew!”

Jon frowns, it looks heavier with his beard. Why did she assume he’d know anything that goes on with Sansa? 

_Arya slides a whiskey shot to Jon and he catches it with ease. “She said too she’s busy for your farewell party. With what exactly, she didn’t bother to explain. It would’ve been entertaining to see her try to lie so horribly.” She muses, a cold beer on her hands._

_“Bars were never her scenes, anyway.” Jon replies, tone flat and the drink burned his throat._

_“Sansa has always been distant with you. But Jon, even I noticed the tender way she looks at you.” Arya quietly admits, the laughther sounded wrong and forced. “Gods, maybe she hates that she loves you. You’re too close to home, you know?”_

_The party goes on behind them while they let alcohol slowly soak their minds. It’s a dull blow at this point, the daggers Sansa throws at his heart. Perhaps panic fried her nerves and she spouted out nonsense so now she’s too ashamed to face him._

_Maybe lies will always comfort him because the truth Sansa hides beneath her sharp tongue will remain dormant. He’ll be a madman before Sansa becomes honest._

_Life has made his beloved a shrewd woman._

_“Yeah, I know.” Jon agrees and orders a refill for their drinks._

“No one told me.” Jon glances past the laptop screen. “Anyways. have to do something-“ 

“I just had dinner with the Starks earlier and Catelyn mentioned Sansa having her very first fashion show in King’s Landing. Maybe you should attend it, hm?” Lyanna suggests in a tone that discourages negotiations. The judge’s gavel slammed down and the conclusion was drawn. 

Jon blinks. “What?” 

The idea formed stronger in his mother’s head and she squealed. “Oh, I will send you the details, Jon!” She glares at her son and he sits impossibly straighter. “And if I find out, which I _will_ , you didn’t attend, I'll burn down your room.”

He laughs, loud and amused. “You making your son homeless for Christmas?”

Lyanna smirks. “Or more sensible, whichever comes first, Jon.”

———————

Sometimes, Sansa felt like the black sheep of her family. Robb is dutifully following Father’s footsteps. Arya and her younger brothers are like wolf cubs; wild and howls at the moonlight for delight.

While her, she’s grown more attached to Mother. The more sensible and refined out of all of them. She sings songs, knits, and is the picture perfect definition of grace. The ideal personality and woman Sansa strives to be. 

And Mother onced lived in a thriving city, Riverrun, it’s warmer there than Winterfell. She told stories and Sansa is immediately enraptured by the enigmatic beauty of summers, the sun, and the sophisticated lifestyle city folk have. 

Maybe she is an outcast in her family because she knows deep inside, she belongs here, in the heart of fashion.

“Boss, what’re you staring at? I’ve been calling your name for a minute now.” Jeyne tuts and hands her the coffee order; cafe cappuccino with cinnamon. 

Sansa simpers and takes a sip of the drink. “Sorry.” She murmurs.

The brunette eyed her and softly laughed. “You’re nervous, it's fine Sans.” She turns her head to the slightly opened door. “The crowd is pretty big. I blame the Tyrells for being efficient blanber mouths.” 

Sansa giggles. “It’s called being advertising geniuses, Jeyne.” She softly scolds, places a cold hand on her assistant’s arm. “We’re really here.”

Jeyne grins brightly. “Yeah, I’m glad my shots were decent enough for the flyers and such.” She taps Sansa on her cheek like she did when they went to fashion school together; a manner to ease their anxiety. “We can do this together.” 

She exhaled and gulped a mouthful of her coffee. “Do or die.”

And Sansa opens the door.

Flashes of cameras, people calling out to her, murmurs of questions from reporters all swirled around her ears. She’s both flattered and terrified. 

There was a childish urge to want Mother at her side. The older redhead is fierce when her children are in danger and this isn’t any different. 

Tilting her chin higher, anxiety thrumming nosily in her nerves, she flashes a brilliant and practiced beam. She answered some questions with grace, laughing along the reporters, and took pictures with her fans.

Then, the fashion show began.

Sansa has the entire shown planned out. Consulting with her staff, she made sure her people understood the flow and theme. They brainstormed ideas on how to construct a smooth flow of their pieces and to make sure the Tyrell siblings are the crowning jewels of it all. 

Nights powered by coffee sped through weeks before in order to prepare for this event. Sansa was genuinely surprised at the number of seats they filled at the venue. 

The clothes and accessories all consistently follow the theme of ‘Spring Dreams’. Their hairstyles and makesups are light and glittery like the summer sun on one’s skin.

Each applause and awed gasp is a pat on the back on Sansa and her staff.

When it was over, Jeyne stood at her side, teary eyed and a hand on her baby bump of six months. Margaery and Loras on the other, positively grinning and waving. 

Sansa courtesies like she’s a princess and laughs with tears in her eyes. 

She might not belong in Winterfell but here, the glamour and fame that await her; she might just love it in King’s Landing.

Hours later, Sansa steps out of the busy packing backstage. Her cold hands grasp each other like anchors stuck between rocks.

“The tickets were sure expensive.”

The gasp is sharp, pained her throat and she turns around to see Jon smoking by the fire exit.

How is it in a year Jon became even _more_ handsome? 

His dark curls are tied. The leather jacket is filled of his biceps and his washed out jeans display his insanely attractive toned legs. Combat boots to complete the aesthetic of being edgy and Sansa is a little bit breathless at seeing him.

( _it haunted her, the last image she has of jon; beseeching like a wolf never should and his neck is bowed like he accepts beheading as his punishment._

_but its her fault. she’s a coward amongst predators and hid further back in her cave of comfort._

_Starks endure but not like this, by the damning self-preservation Sansa has cultivated over the years.)_

“Y-you saw my show?” Sansa stammered, fingers with jewelled rings tuck her hair behind her ear.

She sounded so damn shy like she wants to know his opinions. Jon most likely doesn’t know anything about her line of work. He’s more tech savy than she is and she’s the only woman Jon listens to about fashion statements.

Jon pushes himself off the wall, the cigarette hanging on his plump lips.

Sansa envies it so much her hands are quaking with it. She stares at his shoulder but that doesn’t help; recalls how wonderfully sinful it is to feel his muscles bunch beneath her soft hands. The tension caused by her lipstick smearing his neck like a brand and warning. 

“I heard the critics praise your works. You’ll do amazing things, Sans.” Jon says, removing the cigarette and exhales the grey smoke away from her face.

It isn’t disgusting when he does it. Somehow, it completes the dangerous aura he exudes. Her throat is dry because honestly, how does Jon make standing and smoking so damm attractive she’s _panting_?

She huffs and Jon laughs. “I-thank you, Jon.” She murmurs. Eyes flits through her eyelashes to find him intensely staring at her; misty grey piercing through her vibrant sky eyes. “The staff wants to go to a nearby bar. Would you, would you like to join us?”

Her mind completely _freaks_ out. What the hell was she doing, initiating more interactions with him? 

He’s Jon. He probably has a girlfriend by now, perhaps lives with her and they bought a dog. Maybe he came here because their families pointed a gun to his head. She goes stupid when it comes to him.

“Sure, got nowhere else to go.” Jon answers. “And besides, you owe me for not attending my farewell party.” 

It was a slight jab. She recalls drinking so much Jeyne considered dragging her ass to the hospital. But that would cause a scene so they refrained and her best friend had to nurse her back to health. And that took the enire day! 

“Okay.” Sansa says, too quickly and her smile could make sunflowers turn to her. 

———————

No one bothered them. The staff, Jeyne, and the Tyrells sat on different tables while Jon and Sansa are plopped on one couch. 

Margaery saw him and smirks with devilish intent. “Lover boy chased you to the city, hm? Drinks all around!” She shrieks and Loras cackles in support of this nonsense. 

Jon orders a cold beer and she sips her margarita. 

“I’m sorry for… not being there.” Sansa starts, staring at the polished wooden table. “I just, I just _knew_ if I tried to convince you to stay you would and I’d be the reason. What if you’ll regret it and resent me? What if you’ll blame me and-and you’ll hate me….” 

She coughed and hoped to all the gods Jon didn’t notice how her eyes glistened, her voice softened because she could cry. 

Jon leans back, strong hands holding his beer. “I wish you did then.”

Sansa stares at him.

He looks up. “Because I hate it here. I miss my family and friends.” Laughing he took a swig of his beer. “Goddamn, even their beer tastes wrong.” 

“Why did you even agree to move here?” Sansa’s throat tightened out of fright. _He’ll say for Dany. He’s here to apologize for everything because he’s working things out with his girlfriend. Please gods, don’t let him be with-_

He rubs his beard and Sansa cross her leg on the other. “Opportunity? My mom kicking me out of my apartment? Dany was excited but then, that would mean she’d be my boss. I don’t want unnecessary complications so I broke it off.” He explains.

So he’s not with Dany? He could still be with someone else. 

“And you? Why’d you come here?” 

“I want a fresh new start, as achingly cliche as it is.” Sansa muses. 

They look at each other, awkward, not knowing what the next moves in this new dance. Who should approach? Are they bold enough for that? 

“Sansa,” her name is temptation and an aphrodisiac when he says it. by the dim lights of the bar, his grey gaze darken like he isn’t leering at her and her skin isn’t dotted with goosebumps. “I missed you.”

_(It should shame her, this intensity she yearns for him. The need to make him stay at her side, but what if he leaves?_

_Men of her past have never wanted her the way she wanted them to.)_

“You mean you miss my cooking?” Sansa jests but they don’t laugh and her smile felt stiff.

Jeyne goes to them and sits next to Jon. “My flight’s tomorrow. It’s an honor to help you with your first show, darling!” She coos at her best friend. “I have to go back to your apartment before my husband has a fit.”

“I’ll drive you.” Sansa volunteers, almost too eager for the chance of escape. 

The pregnant woman shakes her head. Her smirk reminds Sansa of her older brother, naturally confident in everything he does. 

“How nice of you! But I already called a cab.” Jeyne stands up and kisses Sansa on the cheek. “You better have an honest talk or I swear I’ll lock you two in a room.” 

Sansa doubts little of Jeyne’s determination.

She leaves with a little wave to them. Their people have long gone to their homes. Margaery winks at Sansa and loops her arm through Loras’ arm, as they debate on which club they should party for the night. Her brother eyes Jon and gives her a thumbs up.

“How’s city life, Sans? Enjoying the limelight? You’ve always wanted to move here. Living the dream now are you?” Jon’s voice is cruel and taunting. 

Sansa gripped the margarita glass and drank from it. She loved that this is where her career would take off and people would see her as a serious fashion designer. It’s a brilliant strategic move to her lifelong dream.

“Father used to say Starks are the Royals of Winter and of the Woods. But we’re in the city and the sun is shining. I’m so scared like a wolf should never feel.”

Her voice is small, tone is timid. She stares at the leather coaster instead of watching Jon’s reaction. For the life of her, she couldn’t say this to anyone else, in fear they wouldn’t understand her conflicting feelings. 

The people she surrounds herself with here don’t feel homesick. To the point, Sansa would scan through tuckets back to Winterfell and would have the urge to buy one. Just to smell Mother’s cooking, to scold her younger siblings when they chase each other around the living room. 

“That’s because you’re lonely. You’d never feel that back at home, with your pack.” Jon says. He doesn’t break eye contact when he scoots nearer to her, shoulders pressed together. “I didn’t know you came here.” 

( _the distance between them is a cliff filled with midnight secrets and aching loneliness their souls quiver with._

_but now, looking across it, she wants to jump across every difficulty just to reach him. its the sort of bravery only heroes and protagonists have.)_

Sansa’s lip trembled and his rough hand cups her cheek, angling upwards to face him. His face, that Northern look reminding her of home and the love she feels with their families, she sniffles loud. 

“True, but that goes the same with you. Jon, you lessen my soul of its loneliness and fill it with warmth. Winter is in my bones but my heart has you. I have never been so in love the way I am right now.”

She pressed her forehead against his, her nose skins on his cheek like a wolf marking their mate as theirs, a primal urge of comfort that dictates them instead of the years’ worth of fear. 

“I love you. _Gods, Jon, I have loved you my entire life._ ” She declares to his chest, fingers bunching at his cotton shirt. “But I’m so scared of this. We’ll mess it up. We’ll break up and I will never recover.”

His hand combs through her silky hair and gently cups her neck. He rubs his chin on top of her head ina loving manner. “I guess I’ll have to convince you that we’re worth the risk, huh?”

His arm goes around her waist and Sansa sinks into his side, gravity all too natural and she can’t reason herself out of this embrace. 

Jon kisses her first. She returns the fervent action, waves crashing against rocks, tongues twining like the fated red clothed around soul mates. 

It doesn’t occur to them how Sansa is almost sitting at Jon’s lap and he brings her closer, to maybe glue their hearts together, to keep this skittish wolf at his side forever. Time stops or becomes irrelevant to them as they kissed and groped each other like water flowing between fingers; desperate and fervent touches to make this moment seem intact and impossibly perfect.

Sansa pulls away, rosy red flushed, her eyes of brilliant blue is hazy with lust. Her grin has her favourite lipstick smudged and Jon’s pretty pink lips shines with it. Her hand curls on his broad shoulders, shivers roll down each spine vertebrate at the notion of his noble strength. He could break her and she’d happily let him.

“My place is near here.” Jon announced, gruff and needy. His gaze never strays from hers; a challenge and a plead.

Sansa takes the bait as she pecks his cheek and hops off his lap. “Lucky me, huh Snow?”

He laughs.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

He wakes up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee wafting into his senses.

Rubbing his eyes with his palms, he gingerly peels the bed sheets off him, and stumbles into the kitchen. The smile couldn’t be prevented, a lazy and fond action he can’t hide whenever his redhead angel is around.

Sansa’s hair is a mess, loosely twisted at the nape of her neck. Even at this distance, her pale neck displays the strawberry bruises in the shape of his mouth. So maybe he got carried away, but Sansa’s delighted reactions are too hard to not accept as the highest compliments.

She hums and sways to the song stuck in her head. The shirt she so adorably stole form his wardrobe reaches mid-thigh probably with a vague band logo printed on the front.

“Oh, mornin’.” Sansa chirps and goes to him. Presses a kiss on the corner of his mouth with one hand on his but Jon noticed she isn’t looking him in the eye.

( _old habits die hard, he supposes. But change is something they need and isn’t that why they moved far from their hometown? To be other people and see if this persona fits better than the one they honed in their youths?_

_Wouldn’t it be horridly sweet to have that growth together? Or is Jon just an old-fashioned romantic?)_

“Jon,” Sansa murmurs, hesitant like she wants to inhale the words back to her lungs.

“Yeah, love?” Jon softly encourages, holds her head on his palm, his entire world is this woman.

“I, I want to take it slow.” Sansa stated, watery blue eyes gazing up at the sullen grey sky, yearning to reach upwards but nature is an indifferent god. “I want us to be right this time, honest, and careful. Is-is that all right?”

Jon grins, laughs beneath his breath, and kisses her forehead. “Sans, did you know wolves mate for life? We’re in this together.”

Her entire face brightens up and honestly, Jon’s heart couldn’t take that much cuteness from her at this early Saturday morning. “Yes Jon, I know.” She replies and returns to the stove, a small skip in her steps.

He sips his coffee and offers help. She laughs it off and kisses his nose.

They stood in the kitchen like the morning; gentle, soft, and a new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry there's no sex scene. i literally can't type that sort of stuff bc it's not my forte tbh. but i hope it's alright?

**Author's Note:**

> what do you think?
> 
> (alternative title: leave the ladies' manners at the door)


End file.
